Justice
by MarquessaS
Summary: The brothers,  touring aimlessly in Louisiana,  find intolerance, and worse.
1. Chapter 1

JUSTICE

The brothers find intolerance and worse while touring in Lousiana.

Third after (1) What goes Around, Comes Around, and (2) The Green & the Blue

* * *

><p>PART 1<p>

"Dean, look at this."

The brothers had been driving aimlessly through Louisiana for several days. Having had a comforting and very relaxing couple of weeks in Florida, once the usual trauma and drama was over, they were a little lost at the moment. They were financially flush, which was a new and happy feeling, so they had no need to seek out a paying gig.

Dean swallowed a mouthful of waffle. "What?"

Sam handed him the paper, pointing to the relevant article. Dean scanned the report as he sipped his bitter black coffee absent-mindedly. _"SECOND COUNSELOR FOUND DEAD IN A WEEK"_ The article described the discovery the previous day of a young man, dead, with no apparent foul play. It mirrored the death of another young man, some six days before, in identical circumstances. Both had been counselors at the Saving Word Summer Bible Camp, on Black Lake, Bethel County, LA. "So? People die...heart attacks, allergies, I dunno, brain tumours. The cops said they had no evidence of foul play."

"C'mon Dean, you don't think it's a little weird? Two young, healthy guys drop dead in a week, both work at the same place, both of unknown causes?"

"Mmm. I guess. So what do you want to do? Drive out there, ask some questions?"

"It's a start."

Dean slurped the dregs from his cup. "Hey, what the hell, nothing else to do."

Earlier, Sam and Dean had located a reputable coin dealer in Florida after their windfall of Spanish gold. The dealer was thrilled to see the coins, especially in such good condition. He'd dealt with similar coins before, but they had invariably been found in water, and had the wear and encrustation from centuries of exposure to the sea. These were nearly pristine. He purchased four of them, which allowed the brothers ample breathing room in their travels. Dean kept the last coin. He would sell it if necessary, but if he could keep it as a memento, he would love to set it into a frame and wear it on a chain. An expensive bauble, but for him, it had nothing to do with monetary value and everything to do with the positive experience that brought it to him. And besides, it was just so cool!

But the new-found freedom from worry was a worry in itself for two people who were more accustomed to walls than welcomes. They were bored, and worse, Dean was restless, a condition that usually ended with trouble. They needed to get back to what they did best. There had been enough of a buffer and it was time to get back to business. Bethel county was back in the direction they'd already traveled. They finished their breakfast and wandered back out to the car after purchasing some travel snacks and drinks.

"How do you want to do this?" Dean asked lazily. "Are we reporters? Insurance guys? What do you think?"

"I don't know yet. They just lost two of their staff, they might need to hire a couple of new people."

Dean groaned and made a face.

"What? Because it's a _bible_ camp? Dean, don't have such a narrow mind. These camps are great for kids; on a lake, lots of fresh air, forest, summer activities. And yeah, some morality instruction too. What's wrong with that?"

"Whoa! Don't get bucked off your high horse there, Sammy! I don't have a problem with it. Just with the camping part."

"Oh. " Sam said sheepishly. He had forgotten Dean's aversion to any accommodation that didn't have orange shag carpet and a flashing neon vacancy sign. He remembered an early experience they'd had, hunting a wendigo on the west coast. That had been rough enough to sour both of them on the idea of sleeping in the woods for a good long time. "Well, this isn't wilderness camping anyway, Dean. Trust me, this'll be cabins and mowed grass. You can handle _that,_ can't you...princess?"

Dean punched him hard on the arm in response.

Several hours later, they located the lake. During their travel, it was decided that they should split up. Sam would pursue the counselor job, since neither believed that Dean could successfully pull off the role of morality tutor. And Dean would find a place to stay and follow any other angles that presented themselves.

A suitably cheap and dated motel was found. Sam left his computer with Dean and he drove up to the camp. As he had thought, under the circumstances they were a little desperate to take on a new staff member. Sam was authentically engaging, obviously moral, and clearly athletic, and they didn't have time for their usual precautionary checks. He was perfect, and they needed someone like him. He was shown his accommodation, a cabin, shared with two other counselors. He had their agenda in hand, including all planned activities and a curriculum synopsis. And of course, a detailed code of conduct, and a bible.

Dean, meanwhile, settled in at the motel, spending some quality alone-time by watching some decidedly amoral movies and making a dinner of whatever came out of a cellophane bag. He fired up the laptop and started searching. He managed to get the names of the coroner and the funeral home that had dealt with both bodies. That would be a start for tomorrow. He did some searching for the camp itself. It had a well produced website, which featured enticing pictures of the cabins, the lake, and various candid shots of laughing kids doing summery things. There were a few testimonials. And a mission statement, of course, and plenty of scripture quotes. Seemed normal enough, for that sort of thing. The last frame had a list of thank-you's to its sponsors, and he read through the list. Bethel County Sheriff's Office. A half-dozen churches. Various businesses and individuals. It seemed to be highly regarded.

There was nothing there to dig at. He looked at his watch. It was nearly time. He'd made sure to note the locations of several promising night spots in town as they drove through. Sam might be happy in his little cabin in the woods, reading his bible to the kiddies, but Dean had other ideas on what constituted entertainment.

He showered and chose some of his less wrinkly attire, including his lucky tan long-sleeved tee-shirt. He brushed his teeth, spit in his hand and roughed his hair up with it and voila, —ready for action.

He gave Sam a quick call. "Hey Father Samuel. All tucked in with your bible stories?"

_"Shut-up, Dean. The kids are great, really into the summer camp thing.. What are you doing?"_

"Going out. I found out the coroner and funeral home for both. I'll check it out tomorrow. Anything interesting over there?"

_"Yeah, actually. They're missing three staff here, not just the two who died. Another guy disappeared a month ago. It's a bit weird, it's like there's open weeping over the other two, but the first one...people seem a bit skittish when talking about it. Might be something, I dunno. So, I guess you're checking out the bars in town?"_

"Damn straight. Gonna find me a good time."

_"Well...be careful. Don't piss anybody off."_

"Yes Dad. 'Nitey-nite. Call you tomorrow."

Dean grabbed his leather coat and out of habit, he searched the pockets for his keys. He frowned, remembering that Sam had the car at the camp. He was going to have to walk. Not as impressive as touring around in the Impala. Chicks always liked that car.

It wasn't far anyway. He strolled for about ten minutes, ending up at little place called Harry's. He sat at the bar, ordered a draught and took in the surroundings. He was a bit out of place, he realized, the décor was solid country, and the music twanged with a similar bent. It was really not his thing. The barkeep was a friendly looking type, with a big ungainly moustache that made it look like he was trying to inhale a squirrel.

"So what do you think of our little corner of the world, here..?" he asked Dean, handing him the beer.

Dean laughed. "Is it that obvious I'm not local?"

The barkeep shrugged, smiling. "Most people in here are regulars. Country types. Younger, hipper folks end up at McGuire's up the road. Now don't go thinking we're unfriendly, not sending you away or nothing. Always happy for your business here…"

Dean raised his glass to him.

"What're you in town for anyway? Visiting family or such?"

Dean had already planned his scenario. "Nah, just my job. I'm with the national center for disease control. I get sent all over the place to investigate when there are unexplained deaths happening in groups."

"You must be here about those camp counselor deaths, then. Yeah, that was strange. Sad too, good people, I hear, from upstanding families."

-_Good Christian people, you mea_n- Dean thought. Not that he had anything against that, it just seemed that some of the worst things were done by people who wore that label loudly.

Dean nodded. "I need to speak with the coroner tomorrow. These usually turn out to be nothing, I don't wanna panic anybody. Just routine investigation."

Bill the bartender poured him another draught.

Dean thought he'd test the waters a little. "I heard there was an earlier death, another camp staff member...'bout a month ago?"

Bill frowned a little. "Not a death. Disappearance. Nice kid, too. His name was Daniel Williams. His sister waitresses here. She's due in at nine if you need to ask her about it. Name's Margaret...well, Maggie. Take it easy on her though, ok bud? She's still real broken up about it all."

Dean thanked him for his candor, and promised he'd tread gently. Nine...that was in about twenty minutes. He sighed. So much for an evening of fun. He'd managed to turn it into work in record time.

* * *

><p>Sam had settled in to his allotted space. His duties were done for the day, it was his own time now. He'd met his cabin-mates earlier. Jeff was a perfect Aryan specimen, tall, blond and athletic. And arrogantly confident. The other one, Randy—he was a weasely type. Friendly if he thought it was in his own best interest. And he was clearly a follower of Jeff. As a matter of fact, Jeff seemed to be the alpha of all the male counselors. The girls camp was a few miles up on the lake, they operated separately except for joining the boys on bonfire nights. Sam planned to stay on Jeff's good side, otherwise he knew that he'd remain an outsider and would learn nothing useful.<p>

The camp director was a silver haired gentleman, a Mr. Beauforte. He was charming, and had a strong character, firm and fair. It was he who had hired Sam and given him a brief training session in the camp's schedules and lessons. Unlike the counselors, he did not stay at the camp, but went back to his home at the end of each day. Jeff was the one in charge of the boys until morning. He was in the office now, with his lackey no doubt by his side. Sam decided to stroll around the facilities, perhaps to meet the other staff, check out the lake. It really was a beautiful area. He smirked to himself...Dean would have hated it.

* * *

><p>Dean waited for the arrival of Maggie Williams. In the meantime he chatted lightly with Bill and annoyed himself by tapping his foot to the country tunes that played relentlessly. He snacked on some fries and wings since the earlier potato-chip dinner hadn't really satisfied.<p>

His business demeanor fell away when she entered. Maggie was a stunner. She had reddish brown hair, simply styled in a way that perfectly framed her gently smiling face. Her eyes were green. Or brown. It depended on the angle. Even, white teeth flashed frequently with her kind teasing of the regulars. Her jeans hugged comfortably on her lean frame. No wonder they all loved her here. Dean was ready to drive that bandwagon himself. The job was all but forgotten as he watched her approach.

Bill introduced them. Dean realized he'd been grinning stupidly, but he managed to slip back into form and save at least a little of his dignity. Bill had already told her why he was there, so Dean invited her to a table to talk.

"So...you're investigating for some sort of epidemic?" she asked.

"Well no, not exactly. I just get sent out when there are multiple unexplained deaths in a defined area and in a short period of time. It's really routine, I haven't found any thing unusual yet on my watch. No plagues, no alien bugs. Nothing to worry about." he smiled.

She smiled back, leaning forward on the table. She thought he was damn cute. "That must drive your wife nuts, losing you to all the travel."

This time his smile reached his eyes. "No, she appreciates her moments of peace." He watched and was satisfied at seeing her brief look of disappointment, and he quickly assured her he was kidding. "Nope, no wife, no kids, and unattached at the moment. You?"

She laughed. "Oh, well, I couldn't go breaking the hearts of all the regulars here. Just me and my dog, Ivan."

"Ivan...so what is he, one of those little furry purse-dogs that has to wear a jacket in winter and a sun-hat in summer? " he teased.

"Irish wolfhound."

"Holy! Those are kinda big, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah. I had to build his run over 8 feet high. He's jumped everything else. Are you afraid of big doggies, Dean?" Her eyes were twinkling.

He blushed. "No. I've met and tamed bigger dogs. As long as I'm guaranteed to leave with the same number of arms and legs as I came with, we'd get along fine."

"Well, don't worry Dean. Ivan-the-Terrible loves everybody. So, why do you want to talk to me?"

He regretted having to get back to business. "Bill told me about your brother's disappearance. I'm sorry to hear that. I'd asked him about it because we had it classed as another death in this series, so I was supposed to include it in my report. But I see that info was wrong, so I'll just be looking into the other two."

He felt bad, she seemed to wither a little at the mention of it.

"I...don't know if it's related to those others or not. Dan and I are close, he would never have left without telling me, or phoning me later. Something happened to him, I know it. I mean, I wish to god it hasn't, but…" She trailed off. "Do you have any siblings, Dean?"

"Younger brother. He's a pain in the ass, but yeah—if he ever left with no contact I'd be thinking the same as you."

She nodded. He understood. "Danny...he was nothing like those holier-than-thou bastards at that camp. I don't know why he ever took that damn job, they made his life miserable." She stopped, embarrassed. This person had his job. He wasn't a cop, he couldn't help with Dan.

Dean's smile faded, and he asked earnestly, "Maggie, can we go somewhere else and talk? I'm not feeding you a line here, I just think you might want to tell this to an outsider...maybe get some different perspective."

She looked at him for a moment. His expression was genuine concern. She decided she could trust him. "Uh...well, I am on shift." She turned around on her chair and looked at Bill, who understood. "You might as well, girl. It's pretty quiet tonight. I'll re-schedule you if you want. And _you_, Dean-of-the-national-centre-for-disease-control, you behave yourself. You seem like a nice lad, you don't wanna change my mind about that, you hear?"

Dean respected the implied threat. "No sir. You can trust me. And thanks."

Bill nodded solemnly and winked at Maggie.

* * *

><p>Out in the fresh evening air, Maggie asked, "So where are you staying?"<p>

"The Highway 9 Motor Inn."

"Oh, gross! Poor you. Well, sorry to be a princess, but I'd rather go back to my place, if you don't mind. And pardon the expression, don't get any funny ideas!"

He laughed, trying to hide the fact that he _was_ getting funny ideas. "I hear you. Besides, I heard you have a really huge dog!"

Maggie's house was walking distance to the bar, she'd left her truck at home. They walked and chatted about lighter things, until they reached her front door. As she turned the lock, a single deep, rumbling "woof" came from behind it.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "How big is this dog?"

"Oh, you'll see." She opened the door and a wiry coated behemoth flew through it. His big lumpy feet hit Dean's shoulders, knocking him back onto his butt. Ivan stood on his chest and licked the entire surface of Dean's head like it was a big fuzzy lollipop as he twisted back and forth and struggled to push the monster off.

Maggie was beside herself with laughter and when she found her voice, she ordered Ivan off and he sat, his tail sweeping the porch happily. Dean got up, grabbed the sleeve of Maggie's jacket and wiped the slobber off his face.

"Nice dog." he managed, but he was smiling.

"Sorry, Dean. He's not very bright. But I warned you, he loves everybody!"


	2. Chapter 2

Sam walked along the path, crunching the forest litter underfoot with a pleasing sound, each footfall releasing a sweet, earthy scent. On his little foray he'd met James and Mike, two more of the boys' camp staff. They seemed pleasant enough, but Sam had the distinct impression that they would reserve their judgment regarding his worthiness until they knew Jeff's feelings on the matter. -_Sure has everyone under his thumb_—Sam thought. He was a little disgusted by their weakness. He had the feeling that they were the hangers-on that hid behind a school yard bully, full of bravado while he was around, but needy and unsure while they were on their own. He hadn't met anyone solid or trustworthy enough to start asking about the deaths, and the earlier disappearance.

He reached the shore of the lake, and sat down on its gravelly bank. The last of the sun was throwing pink sparkles over the water, he could hear water birds splashing somewhere near. He could have sat there all night if the mosquitoes weren't so prolific. He sighed and threw a flat rock into the shallows, counting the skips. _Probably should head back._ He didn't know how clear the path would be when the sun had dropped completely. He got to his feet and turned back in the direction of the path. He stopped short, surprised. Jeff and the gang stood silently, spread out across the path, blocking him.

"Hi Newbie." Jeff smiled unpleasantly.

"Uh, hey guys." Sam returned the greeting uncertainly.

Jeff stepped forward and put an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Sam, wasn't it? Yeah. How are you liking the job so far?"

"Seems ok…"

"Ok? No no no, it's a _great_ job. You're gonna love it. But see, we just have this little initiation thing we do, Sam. We all did it, it's not weird or anything." He laughed again.

Sam had warning bells screaming. "Initiation...ok. What do I have to do?"

"Relax. Come on. " Jeff headed back down the path. The others followed behind Sam, laughing amongst themselves. The wound their way to a clearing where a campfire burned. A few logs had been hauled over, serving as seating. The others found places on them as Jeff motioned to Sam to sit, while he remained standing. Sam was feeling very uncomfortable. He'd managed to remain unscathed during hazing days at Stamford, he wondered what this bunch had in mind to prove him worthy of inclusion in their little fiefdom.

Jeff addressed him. "Relax Sam. It's all about a little fun. Boys, I think you all met our newbie, Sam, here. I think he's a good guy, he oughta fit right in. Let's all drink to that!"

The group cheered as one and a number of bottles were produced. These were shared around, Jeff handed Sam his own. The group seemed to relax, and there was conversation and laughter.

"See Sam...we are here to teach the young ones to be good little soldiers for god. It's our job, and we do it well, because we're paid to. But we're big boys, and we like a little _fun_ too. See, when we come out here, we leave the bibles behind at the the camp."

Sam faked a grin. "I was wondering just how holy you guys were gonna be." He accepted the bottle from him and faked a healthy swig.

Jeff clapped his shoulder. "Atta boy, Sammy."

They proceeded to tell crude jokes, and stories, all of them laughing and egging each other on. Sam added his own contributions, Dean had told him enough stupid and disgusting jokes on their endless drives, at least they were useful now. Jeff offered his bottle repeatedly to Sam, and Sam faked his consumption convincingly. But he noticed that Jeff accepted swigs from the other bottles going around, but seemed to ignore his own. Sam had the feeling that there was something slightly artificial about the easy joviality of the party.

"How you doing, there, Sam?" Jeff asked.

Sam knew he'd better start showing some effects of his false consumption or they'd be on to him. "Pretty damn good." he slurred. "Kinda weird, actually...man, what the hell are we drinking, anyway?" And he broke into laughter that was slightly too loud.

Oh...just good stuff." Jeff assured him. "You're all right, Sammy. Isn't he all right, guys?" There was a chorus of yeahs. Several joints were making the rounds as well. Sam felt confident enough to accept that, at least. He'd seen several of them inhale from it and it was likely safe enough. But he steadfastly avoided swallowing Jeff's whiskey, continuing to fake the drinking. Luckily it was dark enough that he didn't seem to notice that the level barely changed. He might have to accidentally fumble the bottle to spill some out.

'You've got a pretty high tolerance, don't you Sam?" Jeff laughed, eyeing him closely.

Sam realized he'd better step up the wasted act or he'd be in trouble. "Mmm? No, I'm not the tallest." and he broke into more stupid laughing. "Oh—wait, yes I am, Dean's short!" He snorted loudly and giggled to himself. He felt like a jackass.

"Who's Dean, Sam? Some guy you like?" Jeff pried, suddenly intense.

"_Like_ him? You nuts?" Sam snorted again. "Naw, it's my stupid brother." He leaned heavily against the one sitting closest to him, then hauled himself awkwardly upright again with embarrassingly over-done apologies. Jeff and Randy exchanged glances, and the alpha-dog turned to Sam with a slight smile.

"Ok Sam. Truth or dare time. If you wanna join the club, you have to pay the toll. And the price is...you have to tell what's the worst thing you ever did. Just like we all did, right guys? So whatever it is, lied, stole, screwed your cousin," He leaned closer to Sam for emphasis. "..Or your best buddy. Time to give it up, newbie!"

-_Ok_—Sam thought, this is what this is about. They're weeding out the' wrong sort.' They're a bunch of homophobes… He realized that whatever Jeff had added to his bottle would no doubt have removed any inhibitions he had about revealing such a deep secret. Sam acted his part accordingly.

"Oh, f—k off! Get outa here, I'm not some fag! And none of you better be either, cuz I'll kick your pansy ass!" he slurred loudly.

There were satisfied looks of approval around the circle.

"C'mon, Sammy...nothing bad? You must have done something." Jeff goaded.

Sam laughed in a slightly unhinged way. What the hell, might as well tell them the truth. "You really wanna know the worst bad thing I did?"

They all leaned a little closer. "Go ahead, Newbie...you heard the rules." Jeff prodded.

"Ok. Shot my own brother. Twice." Sam fell over backwards in artificial hysterics.

There was real, and nervous laughter from the others. He allowed them to pull him upright again.

"Get outa here, Sam! You're a good boy, you teach at a bible camp for shits sake!"

"Nah, s'all good. Didn't really kill him….just shot him a little bit. But don't tell anyone, ok?"

"Dude, are you serious? Why?" Weasel-boy asked.

"Pissed me off. But we're good now. I don't shoot him anymore." He laughed again and nearly lost his balance.

The others were quiet, waiting for Jeff's response. "Sam…" he announced. "I like you, you've got a set. Welcome to the club." This time his smile was genuine. Weaving, Sam gave him an uncoordinated thumbs up.

The rest of the group cheered and toasted him.

Sam slurred his own demand loudly. "Ok, now you. What was the badness you all did? Your turn, c'mon." He grabbed the log hard to steady himself, to keep the illusion of his wasted state going.

There was an awkward moment of nervous shifting, an occasional laugh. But Jeff, ever-confident, righteous Jeff—answered. "Well, just a little while ago...we chased out a little queer that wanted to join our club here. Chased him all the way to hell with a boot-print on his ass, didn't we, guys?" Jeff laughed, and the pack joined him.

Sam stared at him, bleary-eyed and silent. He shook off his revulsion. Then he gave them a thumbs up again, grinning. "Right-on."

He figured that was a pretty useful bit of information. He wouldn't press his luck, he had their confidence now and he could safely pry later about this incident and the dead ones. He rose awkwardly. "Shit, gonna hurl...sorry." He staggered to the woods and faked some noisy nausea, then wandered back to the ring. The little party was breaking up, it was a work day tomorrow after all. They had to be bright and fresh and godly in the morning.

Jeff put his arm around Sam to steady him. "Sorry, man." he laughed. "Guess we were a bit rough on you for your first night. That's some pretty strong booze...you ok?"

Sam nodded. "Ok for now, ask me in the morning though!" He gave Jeff a crooked grin.

Jeff slapped his shoulder with a snort of approval. "You're a good sport, Sam. C'mon, let's get you back before you get the spins."

* * *

><p>Dean petted the big dog, forgiving him. He'd rather be bowled over by a friendly mutt than torn to ribbons by some demonic canine any day.<p>

"Come on in, Dean."

He followed Maggie into the foyer, and was about to comment on the pleasant décor when Ivan took his opportunity to greet Dean officially. "Whoa!" Dean yelped, as Ivan shoved his big muzzle between Dean's legs, nearly lifting him off the ground by his 'nads. "A crotch-dog too! Awesome!" he laughed a little nervously, pushing the wiry head away.

"Oh...yeah, sorry, I should have warned you about that." she giggled apologetically. "Ivan! Bad dog! Out!"

Ivan hung his head and sauntered off to his enormous dog bed, dropping heavily onto it with a petulant sigh.

"God! How do you keep that thing fed?" Dean marveled.

"Kibble by the dumptruck-load...plus the occasional mailman. And walking him is even better, everybody on the street laughs as I'm carrying home my ten pound bag of orange steamies."

Dean shuddered. -_ok, way too much information_- But he liked her easy, uncomplicated banter.

"Coffee, or beer?"

"Beer, thanks. Nice place."

"Thanks. It was my folks originally. I just remodeled a month ago." She brought over two bottles and a cheese tray, motioning to sit in the livingroom.

He silently raised his bottle to her, and she returned the gesture. "So...tell me." he prompted.

She looked at him for a moment. It was almost a waste of the evening to bring it up now. But that was, after all, the whole point.

"Ok. Dan is my younger brother. He's 21, and he's..well he's always been very soft. He's the type of kid who feels everything… When my dad died, Dan was 17. He had a hard time with it. He's really sensitive, very emotional. And I'm not sure I should be telling you this, but he's gay. Does that freak you out?"

Dean shook his head. "Go on."

"Right...ok. So Danny needed to have summer work to pay for college this fall. The Saving Word bible camp has been around here forever, they take local young guys to work for the boys camp and young women for the girls. You stay onsite for three weeks at a time, teaching 6-10 year olds bible stories and outdoor activities. Danny was desperate , he'd tried but everywhere else was already taken, no one was hiring. So he got himself hired at the camp. He's a really good guy, he'd really be able to teach these kids some kindness , some goodness. Some tolerance of our differences... Well, he didn't get the chance. The counselors there were really brutal, a gang of bullies that wanted to protect their little kingdom. Danny never fit in. They harassed him and picked on him endlessly because he was different, you know—not Real-Man material and all that. They finally got him to admit his lifestyle and then they beat the crap out of him. Bastards… Well anyway, he drove back here that night. He was totally upset. He wasn't hurt too badly, but he was terribly humiliated, and he was so, _so_ angry. All of those camp counselor buggers had participated, even the few he thought he'd connected with. Took me the better part of the night to calm him down."

Dean frowned at her story. "Well I guess so! Man, I hate those judgmental types!"

She nodded. "Well, I told him he should press charges. He refused at first...I guess he figured he'd been through enough. But later, he decided that this wasn't right, and maybe he _should_ do something about it. So he called the sheriff's office. He laid it all out for the deputy, since Sheriff McClary was out teaching his college law enforcement course. Dan seemed better after that, like maybe he would have some feeling of justice. He was going to go to the sheriff's office next morning, to formally complain. Well, he did that. And that was the last I saw of him. He never got there. The deputy never met with him. He never even saw him."

Dean sat back, absorbing the information. So the kid was gay, and was harassed and bullied out of the camp. Then he went to press charges, and disappeared before he could do so. And now staff were dying…

He was fairly sure Daniel was dead. And young Daniel was not happy.

"So….what do you make of it? Do you think he could be another one of these unexplained-deaths?" Maggie asked, regarding him miserably. She wanted him to say no, that there was no chance Dan's disappearance meant he was dead, that maybe Dan was just gone for a while, taking stock of his life, re-aligning his priorities and going over his options. She needed to hear it had nothing to do with the other deaths.

Dean sighed. This was a bad situation, and he had to be honest. "Maggie...I wish I could say I thought everything would be ok, but there's something really wrong here. Did you report his disappearance to the sheriff's office?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that afternoon. I talked to the deputy he was supposed to meet with. Useless idiot.. As far as I can see, absolutely nothing's been done about any of this. Nobody spoke to me, there was no follow-up. It's been over a month. I don't know what the hell is going on officially. Seems to me that they are just treating this as a non-issue, just a guy who decided to chuck it all and go off to seek his fortune. I just don't know what to do next."

"Mmm." Dean was disgusted. _Yet another useless cop_. He was sure that poor Daniel was a key figure in this hunt, and for Maggie's sake, he was going to get to the bottom of it. He really needed some wheels. He took a chance that he rarely did. "Maggie, I need to tell you something, but I'd have to have your promise to keep it quiet."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Uh...okay."

"I'm here to investigate those deaths and your brother's disappearance, that part's true. But not for any government department. My brother and I are ...private investigators, of a sort"

"Oh…" She was quiet for a moment. "So, you really can help, with Dan. You're more than just a sympathetic ear." She was glad to have something, anything, done finally. But it also meant that his interest in her was purely business.

"We will unravel this, Maggie. I promise you'll have closure." He chose his next words carefully. "But, Maggie...you have to be prepared to learn things that hurt. I don't know how this will go yet, but obviously it's ugly."

She nodded, both fearful and relieved. "Well, thank-you, Dean...for this. At least my sanity will be saved. So...I guess you'll want to head back now. I really don't have anything to add at the moment."

Dean looked a little crestfallen. "Hey, sure...whatever you want. But..I was looking forward to hanging out with Ivan there."

She smiled warmly. She hadn't misinterpreted his signals after all. It wasn't all about work. "Ivan, come!"

The gangly giant popped his head up at the call, instantly bounding on to the couch and Dean, pinning him to the cushions and giving him another tongue-scrubbing. "Okay! Okay! I give! Maybe not Ivan so much!" he laughed, struggling to get him off his chest.

Maggie called him off and sent him away with a treat.

"Thanks a lot!" he grinned wryly, rubbing his tender collar bone.

She chuckled . "Sorry. But hey, you asked for it. Did he hurt you?"

"No. I broke my collarbone in an accident a little while ago, it's just a little tender. It's fine."

"I was wondering how you got those nasty scars on your throat. Let me see." She unbuttoned his shirt a little and pulled it back to reveal his shoulder. She tsked, rubbing it gently where Ivan's big blunt nails had left a mark. "Better?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Much."

They were two like-minded people. Maggie valued her independence above all else, but she wanted a little closeness every now and then too, if the companion suited. And she thought Dean suited just fine..

Much later, they lay contented in bed. Maggie traced a connect-the-dot pattern on his torso, from one scar to another, some old, some new. "Rough business, this job of yours."

He snorted. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."


	3. Chapter 3

PART 3

Sam followed the others back to the camp. He maintained his weaving and slurring, said his goodbyes to the other two counselors and made his stumbling way into his cabin, crawling directly into his bunk with a groan. He took some good-natured ribbing from his cabin-mates, and quickly pretended to fall asleep. Jeff and Randy hit their bunks shortly after, and Sam listened intently to their quiet conversation.

When they believed his even breathing to be slumber, they discussed his inclusion, and Jeff sounded particularly pleased to have another reliable and proper-thinking ally. Sam detected a note of something in Randy's voice though...jealousy? –distrust? He no doubt felt his status threatened by this big affable newcomer. Sam thought he'd better stay wary of the weasel. Once the conversation stopped, he felt safe in allowing himself to sleep. Had to be up at six, bright and enthusiastic for the kids' sake.

* * *

><p>It was getting late, Dean wanted to call Sam in private.<p>

"Well, Maggie...you know I'd like to spend some more quality time with you." Dean said, with a lascivious grin. "But I guess I should get back to my charming little fleabag. I need to get some things done for tomorrow. Which reminds me—is there a car rental place around here? I need wheels to trade with Sam, he's got my car."

She pouted. "No free time with this job of yours either? Ever thought of doing something else?"

"God yeah, on an hourly basis. But-" he yawned, getting up and locating his clothes, "No rest for the wicked."

"Well, you're out of luck with a proper rental place, but the used car dealership here sometimes rents them out. Bill knows them, he could probably get something for you." She got up herself and dressed. "Gotta take poor Ivan out, he's overdue."

"Why don't you walk him my way?"

"Sure. Just need to grab some plastic bags."

Dean headed to the porch as Maggie collected what she needed, put Ivan's halti on and joined him. They walked side by side, enjoying the cool night air after their busy evening.

"Did you say your brother has your car?"

"Yeah. Sam's working at that camp, posing as a counselor and seeing what he can learn there. He had to take my car to get out there."

She stopped walking. "Sam is at that camp? With everything going on there? Are you sure he'll be ok?"

"Sam's a big boy, he can take care of himself. And if he did get into any trouble, he's got his big brother right here, ready." he assured. But her worry was contagious and he felt a pang of nerves. He was going to be sure to call him asap.

"Oh. Well, good, then."

The short walk to the motel was quickly completed. Dean put the key in, opened the door and turned to face her. He pulled her close and nuzzled her hair. "Oh, man..." he groaned. "I so want to pull you in here!"

"Mmmmm... Shut-up, you. You're a bad influence, some of us have to work at our normal jobs first thing." But she didn't release him. Ivan whined and tugged at the leash. "Ok, dummy, we're going. " she directed to the big dog. She turned back to Dean. "I'm off at four tomorrow, I've got the breakfast shift. You should come by in the morning for some bacon & eggs before you go out and do your battles. Then you can talk to Bill about a getting car."

"Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow morning then." he said, still not letting go, and inching the both of them towards the open door. She laughed and gave the back of his head a smack. "Let go, you're traumatizing the dog!"

He reluctantly did. "Better be a good breakfast!" he called out, stepping into the dingy room as she was towed by Ivan back up the street. She waved and jogged out of view. He smiled to himself stupidly as he shut the door. Throwing himself onto his bed, he relaxed for a minute, and then found his cell, typing in Sam's number. Sam's phone rang endlessly until finally a groggy and irritated voice answered.

_"What? Do you know what time it is!"_

"Hi to you too, bitch. It's only midnight, anyway, why are you so crabby?"

Sam groaned. _"Call me tomorrow, I'm way too loaded to talk to you. Besides, you're waking everybody else up here."_

Dean took the hint. There were too many ears close by, Sam couldn't talk. "Fine, call me first thing."

_"Yeah, yeah, now go away."_ With that, Sam hung up. He felt bad, being so unfriendly to his brother, but it had to be that way. Jeff and Randy undoubtedly had their ears pricked up. "Asshole brother." he mumbled to himself, dropping the phone. That too was for their benefit.

* * *

><p>Dean hung up with a frown. He understood Sam's veiled meaning, although he didn't understand the loaded part, but what-ever. Probably a bit of a party to welcome the new guy. He had to go speak to the coroner in the morning. If he was going to be posing as a Nat'l Center for Disease Control investigator, he'd better get some false ID prepared. He turned on the laptop and sought the small printer from their gear, hooking it up. Internet made their job so much easier, he found the department site and downloaded the logo and pertinent info, putting it together along with his name and some made up numbers in the drawing program. It had taken Sam days and days to teach him how to do it and they'd nearly come to blows over it. He didn't like the damn computer and it hated him back. But he was reasonably proficient at it now. Satisfied with the result, he printed it off and laminated it. Another handy little invention—that laminating gizmo. Everything looked good and official.<p>

He pulled out a white shirt and boring tie from his bag, checked to see if he could avoid ironing it, which he couldn't, so he hung them up to be dealt with in the morning. And with that, he gave in to his need for sleep. Thoughts of his evening with Maggie carried him off to pleasant dreams.

* * *

><p>The thought of breakfast made for a piss-poor job of the ironing, but at least the shirt didn't look like it had been rolled up in a gym bag for weeks anymore. Dean tied his tie on, making a lumpy mess of the knot. Sam usually tied it for him. Stupid things anyway, ties. He was still waiting for Sam's promised call, but he knew Sam had duties first thing and would have to find a spare moment to do it. It was either that or hear from him at 5:30 in the morning, and then he wouldn't be alert enough to remember what the hell Sam had said. He remembered to slip his ID into his pocket. He picked up his officious looking leatherette-bound notebook and started walking.<p>

Halfway to Harry's he got the awaited call.

"What took you so long?"

_"Had to get the kids all fed and sent out to their first activity. Are you going to the coroners?"_

"Yeah. I got a line on another car, when I'm done here I'll drive up and trade with you. Learn anything useful?"

_"Sort of. I know that these counselors are a bunch of hypocritical jerks, for one thing. And that they're the types that go gay-bashing. And that they harassed that guy who disappeared a month ago because he made the mistake of telling them that he was, apparently. They said they chased him all the way to hell, so whatever that means, I'll find out."_

"Yeah, I already know about that guy. Daniel Williams. I spent some time with his sister and she filled me in. He was going to press charges next day, but he never made it. So that's a good lead as to what's taking these guys down, don't you think? A vengeful spirit."

_"Sounds like it could be, and now he's going after the ones who did it, or helped. I can't picture these losers actually having the balls to kill someone, though. There's the alpha-guy, Jeff...he might have it in him, but the rest are just hangers-on. They actually put me through a little hazing thing last night. Tried to drug me with something in the booze but I faked it. They wanted me to admit the worst thing I'd ever done, and if they judged it to be cool enough I was in. I passed with flying colours, by the way. I should be able to ask some questions now without raising eyebrows too much."_

"Sam, are you sure you're safe? I don't like the sound of this."

_"Relax, Dean. I told you, I'm in the club."_

"Well watch your back, Sam. I'll call you when I'm coming out with the car. See you later."

_"Ok. 'Bye."_

"Wait, Sam...so what was it?"

_"What was what?"_

"The worst thing you ever did?"

_"Nice try. You'll be the last to know. Seeya."_

* * *

><p>Dean was perturbed by the situation at the camp. But he had to let Sam handle it, he wasn't a kid after all. He almost walked past Harry's as he was buried in thought, but Maggie tapped on the window and snapped him out of it. He came in, embarrassed.<p>

"Day dreaming?" Maggie teased.

"Just thinking of you...naked." he whispered loudly.

Maggie blushed and looked at Bill to see if he'd heard. He whistled a tune and studiously concentrated on polishing the bar.

"You're gonna spit in my coffee now, aren't you?"

She gave him an evil grin and left to get him some breakfast. Bill put his cloth down and came over. "Heard you need to rent a vehicle."

"Yeah, just for a few days. I lent mine to my brother, he came out here with me to visit friends and I had to give it to him."

Bill handed him a scrap with a name and number on it. "Call him at nine. Tell him Bill sent you."

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. Just keep treating our Maggie well and it's all good." Bill smiled and returned to his tasks.

She brought him a breakfast that would feed three people. He complained and threatened to send it back to the chef. She pretended to hock a loogie into his coffee in front of him. He had no reply to that, so she won. She fixed his tie after mocking his own attempt.

When he was too full to move, he checked his watch. - 9:12. He called Bill's friend and was assured that they had a vehicle available. Armed with directions, he tried to pay for his meal, only to be rebuffed by Maggie. "You can pay me back this aft. when I'm done my shift. I'm sure you'll think of something…" she said with mock innocence. He raised an eyebrow and vowed to be creative. With a brotherly peck to her cheek, all for Bill's benefit, he promised to be by that evening and he left on his trek to get wheels.

Bill glanced at Maggie with a silly expression.

"Just...be quiet, you! " she warned him, blushing furiously.

* * *

><p>Sam spent the afternoon teaching the kids to use the kayaks. It was hopeless, but it was a lot of fun. Once they knew how to tip each other's crafts it was mayhem on the lake. He could admonish them until he was blue in the face, but they still insisted on trying to drown each other, all in good fun. He was beat by the afternoon. When he'd gotten them settled for their dinner, he collapsed into an adirondack chair. James, one of the last two he'd met, joined him.<p>

"They wear you out, don't they?" he laughed.

Sam closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the slats. "Are they always like this?"

"Yep. Eat your wheaties, Sam, or these rugrats'll kill ya." James was quiet for a moment. "God you remind me of Jason."

"Who's Jason?"

James studied his shoes. "Jay was a counselor here. Jason Hughes. He died a couple of weeks ago."

Sam sat up. He feigned surprise. "Man...I'm so sorry. What happened?"

James hesitated. It was obviously a painful subject. "He just up and died. Young guy, a lot of fun, you know? Dropped dead in the park here, during a hike, for no reason. I dunno, maybe a hidden heart thing, who knows?"

Sam nodded. "Too bad."

James shook himself out of his funk. "Yeah. Anyway, Sam. I'm glad you're fitting in here. It really is a good place to work. I'm going to college next year, in sciences. Can't wait to get out of here and live away from the folks, you know? What are you doing next year?"

It was a painful discussion. "Well, I was in Stanford, studying law. I started, but my girlfriend passed away...an accident. So I took some time off. Been hanging out with my brother since then. But I want to go back...eventually."

"Um...same brother you've been shooting?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, same one. But it really wasn't on purpose, just a couple of weird accidents. He's a good guy, just a pain in the ass sometimes, you know?"

James nodded. He had a number of siblings himself. "Well...lucky thing you're a lousy shot, then, eh?" he teased.

Sam smiled wryly. "Guess so!"

James rose to leave. "Well, I'd better head. I'm on wash detail. Seeya Sam, I'll talk to you later."

James left to see to his duties, leaving Sam to contemplate their exchange. He seemed ok, even _decent,_ on his own. It was amazing how mob mentality changed people.

Once the kids were fed, Sam was free again for the evening. He'd learned a bit about one dead victim, maybe he could learn something about the other. He headed back to his cabin, settled on his bunk with a book after checking his phone for messages.

Weasel-boy, Randy, came in. "Whatcha reading?" he asked.

Sam looked up and feigned surprise. "Oh—hi Randy. Just a Stephen King piece of crap."

Randy approached him with studied disinterest. ''Yeah, I read most of those. Wanna beer?"

Sam looked around nervously. "I guess, as long as it's kosher, you know?"

"Hey, you're on your own time and in your own space. You can pretty much do anything, just don't wander around outside with it." He handed him a bottle and got one for himself.. Sam examined it surreptitiously. It looked sealed, he figured it should be ok.

"Thanks." He cracked it open and took a swig, and decided it was fine. Watching Randy, he thought he'd start. "This your first stint here? Or are you a veteran?"

"I've been here for a few summers. Both me and Jeff. Good money, for a summer gig, you know.?"

Sam nodded.

Randy leaned closer. "Guess you heard a couple of people kicked off here in the last couple of weeks?"

Sam was instantly wary. "Uh…Yeah, I heard some guy named Jason died here. Were there more?"

Randy drained his bottle. "Yeah, another guy... Peter McAuley. Just last week. He keeled over, they couldn't do anything. I dunno, maybe he had asthma, or who knows. Weird, though, after the other one."

"Yeah, James mentioned the first one…must have been rough on you guys."

Randy said nothing. He handed Sam another bottle. "Seriously, Sam...what the hell are you doing here?"

Sam was a little taken aback be the directness of the question. "Same as everyone else...get some cash in the bank for school. Why?"

"Why? You regularly shoot your family members. Hardly the usual college boy activity."

Sam regarded him shrewdly. Weasel boy wanted something...answers, reassurances, what?

"Yeah, well...truth be told, it was an accident both times. My brother and I are ok. I was at Stanford before, I'll be going back soon. But it's kind of expensive. Are going to school?"

"Not really. College isn't my thing. I've got other plans."

Sam didn't ask what, he really didn't care to know. But it probably involved riding around in Jeff's back pocket.

Randy rose. "Well, I'm gonna get some shit done. You coming out to the fire tonight again, Sam?"

"You guys do that every night? How do you keep it up?"

Randy smirked. "Gonna have to get used to it, Sam. Remember, you're in the club now."

* * *

><p>Dean thanked Bill's friend for the loaner. His face was frozen into a rictus, but it was still a thank-you. It was a Ford Fiesta. It was orange. Lettered up in such a way that no one would ever mistake it for anything but a <em>Davis Used Cars Courtesy Vehicle<em>. But he was going to trade it to Sam for the Impala, so in a way it was a good thing too. At least he'd have the satisfaction that he wasn't going to be the only one driving it with a paper bag over their head. He looked up the number for the county morgue, and called, falsely identifying himself and his purpose, and setting up an appointment. The coroner was a pleasant man, eager to help and even more eager to discuss the details of the two cases.

"Thanks for seeing me on short notice, Doctor. I don't understand why my office didn't set this up, crossed wires I guess." Dean lied.

"No trouble at all. Actually, I'm glad to speak to another professional about this." He handed two files to Dean. "These are the autopsy reports on both the young men. No cause of death was found, and we ruled out foul play, accidents, pathogens, accidental poisoning, pre-existing medical conditions, —everything. Very perplexing. But I really have to show you _these_."

They were pictures of both bodies, focusing on the back area.

"These were taken under UV light. What do you make of that?"

Dean looked closely. Both victims showed the same feature; large, faint bruise-like marks, all over the back and shoulders.

"It looks like they beaten with something...but you ruled that out."

"Yes, exactly! But here's the thing; these marks don't show under the normal spectrum, only with the UV. And even more odd, there is absolutely no trauma to the bodies, nothing even sub-cutaneous. They look like bruises, but they aren't. They're more like ghosted images of bruising. Never seen anything like it."

"Huh.." Dean hid his shock. This was definitely in the realm of the supernatural. Something was punishing these men...killing them, and leaving marks as…what, a calling card? Or echoing something related to the spirit's demise? If it was Daniel Williams, what had happened to him that he felt the need to mark his victims in this way? Maggie had said he was beaten, but not too badly, it had been more wounded pride than wounded body. These marks could relate to whatever befell him later. "I wish I could solve your mystery, Doctor. But to be honest, I've never seen anything like this before either. Hopefully we won't see anymore of these. I'll need copies of these files, if you don't mind."

"My secretary is doing that now."

"Thanks. Uh...did both victims die in the camp area?"

"Yes, both were found on the hiking trail, and both in the same close area. We've taken samples of soil, water, plants, and nothing is showing anything unusual. It's just a real head-scratcher, I tell you."

"Hmm. Well, Doc, thanks for your time. My department will be calling you with any follow up. If we can cross-reference this with anything in our database, we may be able to shed some light on this." Dean rose and shook his hand. The secretary brought in the two file copies and handed them to him. He thanked her. "I'll be in touch."

On his way back Dean called Sam with an update. There was no answer, so he left a message that he'd come out in the late afternoon or early evening. His next call was Maggie, at the restaurant.

"Hey Bill. it's Dean Winchester...is Maggie available?"

Maggie knew him by his real name, he figured Bill might as well too. He waited on the line while Bill left to get her.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, Maggie...it's Dean."

_"Dean who?"_

"Funny. You still off at four?"

_"uh-huh._"

"I have to switch cars with Sam, can I pick you up after that? Maybe around five or six? We can grab some dinner somewhere, or maybe you can suggest something to do."

She giggled. _"I might have an idea. Or two…"_

He tsked. "You're naughty. I like that…"

_"Dean, are you getting those funny ideas again? Listen, pick me up at six, I have to walk Ivan and do a few things."_

"Good, I'll see you then."

He hung up, pleased with himself. He was having a helluva better time on this gig than Sam was. That left a few hours to kill. He went back to his motel and sat down with a beer, flipping through the files. Both had died of heart failure, but not like the usual heart attack, where there was damage to arteries etc that precipitated it. These guys just had their hearts stop. He looked at the photos again. -_Weird_- Sure looked like marks from being hit with something. When he saw Sam he'd ask him to take the EMF over that hiking trail and see if any readings showed. He yawned, deciding to take a nap while he had a chance. He had to be bright and fresh for six o'clock…

Dean awoke at four, shocked that he'd napped so damn long. It annoyed him that he still felt the effects from the last few batterings he'd taken. He tired after activities that never used to sap his energy quite so much before. -_Getting old._- he thought. Or maybe he should eat more green crap.

He ducked in for a quick shower, selected a comfortably snug grey tee-shirt and jeans, grabbed the file folders and a coat and hopped into the Davismobile. He was _really_ looking forward to getting his Impala back.

* * *

><p>Sam waited in his cabin, reading. Dean was due any minute. He wanted to go out and talk to James again, since he seemed to be willing to discuss the dead coworkers, and perhaps he'd open up some about Daniel Williams as well. But he'd have to wait until later. Weasel-boy wandered in again. "Hey, Sam, what did you say your last name was again?"<p>

Sam stared at him, thinking –_now what_-? "Singer." He'd taken Bobby's surname earlier, when he was at a loss to think of any other.

"Oh, right..yeah. So Stanford, eh? That's pretty rich isn't it? Guess when you get your law papers you'll have it made."

"If I go back." Sam said cautiously, volunteering nothing more. He got a sense that Randy had more questions, but Jeff walked in.

"Sam, are you coming out tonight?" he asked, in such a manner that suggested there was only one answer.

"Natch. I just have to switch cars with my brother, but I should be back in plenty of time."

Before Jeff could ask the question as to whether it was the infamous bullet-riddled sibling, a weak little honk sounded from the parking lot. "That's him, I'll see you tonight. " Sam leapt up and left the cabin, jogging down to the parking lot. When he reached the pavement, he stopped short in horror. _This_ was the other car?

He could see Dean's satisfied grin at his reaction. Dean stepped out of the thing and threw the keys to his brother. "There you go Sammy, ain't she a Beaut?"

Sam shook his head. "Nice work, Dean. Subtle."

"Hey, don't be so ungrateful. It's not like you have to drive all over the place in it anyway, you're pretty much stuck here. Gimme my keys!"

Sam unlocked his door and tossed them. Dean loaded his things into the back seat of the big black car and fired her up. He ran his hand over her dash, murmuring -_Hi, baby-miss me…_?- "What are you up to now, Sam?"

"I was going to ask around about Daniel Williams, see if I could find out about the night he was drummed out of here. And there's another campfire tonight for the counselors, I'm expected to be there…maybe I'll learn more then."

"Come for a quick drive. I have some stuff you should read, the autopsy files on those two guys. You probably shouldn't have those with you at your camp, anyway."

"Alright, just don't make it too long."

Dean squealed out of the parking-lot, much to Sam's annoyance, and headed in the direction of some open road. It felt _sooo_ good to be back behind that big wheel, especially after having to drive the little orange pop-can. He checked his watch, figuring he had enough time to tour around for a little while. Baby needed her exercise…

Sam pored over the notes and pictures. "This is pretty weird—the marks on the bodies. Almost like a message, or warning."

"Yeah. Maggie said Dan was beat-up that night, but not too badly. I don't know yet how those marks fit into it all."

"Who's Maggie?"

"Daniel Williams' sister. I've spent some..uh, time with her."

"Oh yeah? Gonna spend some more? You know, for the sake of the hunt."

"Damn straight!" Dean grinned. "By the way, the two guys were found in the same area on the hiking trail there, do you know where that is?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, there's only one trail that they use, it keeps track of the kids. You want me to walk it with the EMF?"

"Reading my mind, Sammy."

"Hmm. Could be that he's buried there...that'd be handy. Quick salt and burn and its over."

Dean nodded, only half paying attention, entranced by the joy of driving his car.

Sam rolled his eyes and tossed the files under the seat. "Watch your speed there, dummy. You don't want to blow the engine on this relic." he teased.

It wasn't the first time Dean found himself speeding since Bobby brought his baby back. It was just so damned hard not to. The Impala just begged to be let loose. And out here, miles away from any real civilization, nothing and nobody near, he red-lined her. He grinned widely, reveling in the roar from that powerful engine.

Even Sam had to admit it felt great, with the warm evening wind whipping his mop into a tangle, and the tape player pulsing out some Dean tunes that thankfully he felt more than heard. It was pretty much the epitome of freedom at that moment.

But freedom is flighty, and sadly, such moments have a way of evaporating in the ugly face of reality. The car actually left the road surface for a moment on the denouement of the last hill. Dean let loose with a rebel yell as Sam shook his head and laughed. But the bottom held just enough brushy cover at the side, and something waited there, patiently...for yet another jackass to speed by. The impala roared past the concealed car, and suddenly the Winchesters found themselves nervously slowing down and pulling over as the siren and lights flew up to the bumper.

Dean ran his hand through his hair, his stomach knotting. -_shit—shit—shit_-


	4. Chapter 4

PART 4

Dean pasted on an innocent smile as the law walked up to the car door. " 'Afternoon, uh...Sheriff... I mean Deputy." Dean offered, seeing the badge and smiling pleasantly.

It was Maggie's useless idiot deputy, in the flesh. It was a _lot_ of flesh…he was a big specimen. His crisp uniform was perfectly pressed, his close-clipped hair meticulous. He radiated the scent of some kind of strong soap. The deputy's expression was unfathomable, and Dean guessed correctly that he had absolutely no sense of humour.

"What's your name, boy? Where you from?"

Dean lied his answers with respectful courtesy.

The deputy continued his stony stare. "They allow speeding in your state?"

"Uh...no sir."

"I see. So you come out _here_ to do it then, huh? 'Cuz out here we're just a buncha hicks who don't know any better, is that it, son?"

Dean shook his head vehemently. "No sir, we have nothing but respect for Louisiana law! I just didn't realize-"

"That we're smart enough out here in the sticks to catch a clever fellow like you?"

-_crap-_ Dean was sweating. He wasn't trying to antagonize this giant, but everything that left his mouth seemed to do just that. He glanced over to Sam in desperation. _-help me out, here-!_

Sam, his tone conciliatory, gave it a try. "We're really sorry, sir. I know my buddy here was probably going too fast...just got the car fixed. We thought it would be safe to give it a quick test out here. We'll slow it way down from now on, we promise."

"_Buddy_, huh?" Deputy Warren Jessup; Baptist, Mason, Self-Appointed Moral Compass of Bethel County, crossed his arms, and narrowed his mind. "You two are some kind of queers, aren't you?"

"What! No!" Dean spluttered.

"Sure you aren't. Probably came here for looking for some Mardi gras action, just like all the other perverts from out of state.. You're a little early, ain't you?" The deputy spoke calmly, even casually…but his expression was icy.

Dean looked at him incredulously. "Come _on_, man! Just because we-" He didn't get the chance to finish.

"Get outa the car!"

Dean looked anxiously at Sam. -_ what the hell-?_…

The deputy kicked the rocker panel for emphasis, and barked "NOW!"

That did it. Dean wasn't stupid, he really had tried to be courteous and respectful, but that bastard_ just dented his car!_ He flung the door open in a fury and leapt out as Sam tried to grab his arm and caution him. Too late.

Dean stood in front of the man, chest to chest-demanding, "Look, what the hell is wrong with you? Yeah, ok, I was speeding! I'm sorry! So write me a goddamn ticket and quit kicking my freakin' car!"

Deputy Jessup chose a non-verbal response. He decked Dean with a quick rabbit punch to the gut and spun him around by an arm, slamming him down hard on the trunk of the car gagging, before Dean could even think to breathe, let alone protest. Jessup moved with surprising speed for a man of his size, he had him cuffed in seconds.

Alarmed, Sam had instantly exited the car, but the deputy, one big hand still pressing Dean flat to the trunk, drew his gun and leveled it. He convinced him to drop to his knees, hands on his head. He too was cuffed, and both were hauled roughly into the waiting patrol car.

The brothers sat silently, bewildered, and more than a little fearful. They were driven away as the Impala, the driver's-side door still wide open, shrank and disappeared from view.

Dean muttered the understatement of the day. "This is _so_ not-good!"

* * *

><p>They were put into adjacent holding cells, separated by a wall of steel bars. Both Sam &amp; Dean had their respective false IDs, but unfortunately, since they had different surnames there was no way to prove their blood relation without blowing their cover. Without the means to prove their brotherhood, their relationship was left to Jessup's fertile imagination for interpretation. They knew there was a higher authority than this bigoted deputy, one Sheriff McClary, but so far he didn't show. Which meant they were at Jessop's mercy until someone more reasoning arrived. And Jessop apparently had some <em>issues<em>.

Both brothers stood nervously in their cells, unsure of how to proceed. Jessop ran their names, which naturally came up clear—_why else have a fake ID_? He seemed disappointed. Dean was pacing, fretting about his car. He'd worked so hard to rebuild it, it meant everything. He was obsessed with the idea that it was going to be stripped or stolen. Sam, in the other cell, tried to calm him, to keep his unpredictable impulses controlled before this got any uglier. Further antagonizing the charmless Deputy was never going to be an advantage.

Sam cleared his throat and tentatively asked what the fine amounted to for their traffic violation. Jessop just stared at him. - _Not a good sign_…

Dean sat and glowered. They left his car at the roadside with the door wide open. That was so f—ked up. You had to be some kind of an animal to do something that ignorant with a classic like that. And his keys were still in it!

Jessop was on the phone, trying to drum up some sort of case against the two. But he was frustrated in that goal...the names were spotless, the VIN and plate seemed legitimate and he had nothing but the speeding infraction. Nothing _official_, anyway. He called to have the impala towed to the impound yard, and leaned back in his chair, watching them sourly.

He knew there was something wrong with them. Two guys, unrelated, a little too pretty, traveling together this close to Mardi-gras season. He didn't need much more information, he had them categorized as aberrant already. He was sure the taller one was gay; he seemed fussy. He was too soft-spoken, his hair too long, nails sorta shiny.. The other one, well, he didn't come across as obviously light-footed, but regardless, he had way too much attitude to forgive. Nevermind, he thought. He knew what was in front of him, he didn't need computer verification. Deputy Jessop relied on his fundamentalism when it suited him. He believed it gave him divine sanction for his unreasonable biases, lending power to his hatred...feelings which on this day he directed toward the brothers. At this point it didn't matter what the hell their transgressions were, they were going to atone for the sins that offended both God and the Deputy.

Dean had enough. He lost his meager patience and spoke up sharply. "Hey—Deputy Dress-Up! You planning to charge us with anything? 'Cuz even in the boonies I'm pretty sure we're entitled to a lawyer and a phone call!"

Sam groaned and dropped his head. -_here we go_—

The deputy turned slowly and stared. He rose, and stood in front of the cell. "It's _Jessup_." he said, quietly.

"Yeah, whatever." Dean said dismissively. "Last time I checked, speeding wasn't a capital offense. You've got nothing else on us...so why don't you tell us how much and we'll fork over the cash. Then you can throw it in your donut-kitty there and we'll get the hell out of here!" He had little use for cops...well, most of them, especially the stupid ones. And unfortunately, once he was riled, he was blind to the value and wisdom of treading lightly.

Sam prayed he would shut his big mouth before things escalated. He tried his best to defuse the situation. "Uh...Sir, I apologize for my friend, he wasn't brought up properly." he said, staring daggers at Dean. "What he means to say is-"

"I don't give a damn what he _means_ to say." Jessup interrupted. "And I don't much care to hear from you either, you damned fruitcake!"

Sam was taken aback. Jessup wasn't going to let that false assessment go. He began to understand the source and depth of the lawman's animosity. And with that knowledge came the certainty that he was not going to be appeased easily. The best course was for them to remain silent and allow him to vent, and when he had said his piece, they'd obediently pay their fine and get out, and put a hundred miles between themselves and his dangerous biases.

Unfortunately, Dean wasn't buying in. "For the last time, we're not gay! He's just a guy I hang out with, and it's none of your goddamn business anyway!" Dean snapped. "So either charge us, fine us, or release us. It's not complicated!"

Jessup's expression hardened. "I'd advise you to listen to your paramour here, and keep a civil tongue in your head, boy. I don't think you realize what kinda trouble you're in. You know, there's book law, and then there's _my_ law. Do you really think you wanna learn the difference?" The threat was abundantly clear. Sam stared imploringly at his rash brother, shaking his head and willing him to let it go. But Dean was hopeless. He refused to back down.

"Yeah, I kinda figured book law might be a problem for you. Lemme guess, your folks were first cousins, weren't they?"

The big man's face purpled, and for a moment he looked like he was going to have a stroke. But his impassive mask dropped back into place and he said nothing. He turned away from Dean and walked stiffly to the station door. He opened it, hung a sign on the knob, and closed it again. They heard the unmistakable click of the lock. He then turned to the windows and carefully pulled down the shades.

Contrary to his brother's, Sam's wisdom wasn't clouded by obstinacy, and having the good sense at the moment to be afraid, his heart-rate rivaled that of a rabbit on a greyhound track. "Jesus, Dean, can't you keep your mouth shut for two seconds? What are you trying to do here?" he hissed.

Dean glowered back stubbornly. He stared at the deputy. -_Bring it on, fat-boy_— he challenged silently.

Jessup returned, now sporting a strangely peaceful smile. He slipped his favourite gospel cd into the player on the shelf and turned the volume up a notch. Dean fully expected him to unlock his cell and straighten him out any moment now, he knew he'd said more than enough to provoke him, and he was ready…

But nothing's ever simple. The deputy turned and unlocked Sam's. He entered and ordered him to raise his hands. Sam complied, not wanting to antagonize the big man further. Jessup handcuffed him to the bars separating the two cells, in a manner that forced him to face the other cell. Dean watched nervously...this wasn't going the way he expected. He was perfectly happy to allow his mouth to jeopardize his own safety, but it was never his intention to bring the threat down on Sam. But the deputy simply turned and left the cell. He entered Dean's cell next.

Dean was trying to appear impassive, but in reality he was as tense as a drawn bow. -_Come on, asshole, make your move_-

But Jessup stood calmly. He faced Dean, a second pair of cuffs dangling in one hand. His other hand was blocked from his view. Fear began to push Dean's pride to the periphery and he was starting to regret some of the things that had left his mouth, with the usual, pointless eleventh hour hindsight. It dawned on him that this wasn't going to be a simple use-of-excessive-force on an unruly prisoner, something he was confidant he could handle. No...the good deputy had something else in mind.

Deputy Jessup spoke with the quiet control of a man who had full confidence in his own infallible righteousness. "You have two options here, boy. You can atone for your offenses until you are repentant. Or your partner here, can. I am giving you the choice."

For Dean it was no choice at all. He had enough experience to have some idea of what was coming, and whatever Jessup had planned, Dean knew he was solely responsible. Sam had been a voice of reason that he'd consistently ignored. "Leave him alone."

Jessup was a little surprised. Usually the mouthy ones turned out to be the cowards. He expected at least a little whining and begging. Still wearing his maddening little smile, he advanced toward Dean. But Dean had no intention of compliance. He wasn't too keen on option 1 or 2, he was choosing option #3—knock the bastard out cold, grab his keys, spring Sam and get the hell away. He threw himself at Jessup, but after all their down-time lately he was still a little rusty. He'd forgotten the speed with which the deputy had immobilized him earlier, and the lawman was well-seasoned, figuring correctly that if this one wasn't a coward, then he was cocky enough to try something stupid. Jessup stepped deftly to the side and brought the heel of his concealed baton down against Dean's temple, just hard enough to make him see a few stars but not hard enough to knock him completely senseless. Jessup didn't want him unconscious_ just_ yet.

Dean stumbled to his knees with a curse, and before he could shake it off, Jessup had hauled him up effortlessly and cuffed his right hand high onto the crossbars in front of Sam. Dean berated himself silently. _–yeah—that was smooth-_

The deputy puffed a little with the exertion, but he maintained his angelic demeanor. "Now...I don't usually offer the options twice, boy, but I'm feeling generous. Make your choice."

Dean shook his head, partly to clear his thinking, and partly to shake off Sam's anxious pleas to allow him to handle it. "Shut-up Sam...I got it, ok?" he growled. And glaring, he defiantly offered his other hand to Jessup, who repeated the action, fixing it to the bars, so that the brothers were facing each other.

Dean shot a wry look at Sam and rolled his eyes. But in reality he wished he hadn't been so cocky. Having gone too far as usual, he was going to pay the price. It was pretty clear that he was going to be taught a little Jessop law after all.

He suddenly remembered Daniel. He was coming in to press charges the day he vanished. If he had, then Jessup would have learned the truth about his lifestyle. And now it appeared he was dead. Dean realized they were in serious trouble, and thanks to his own hot-headed lack of self control he had placed Sam in real danger. His mind was racing, trying to play out the possible scenarios, to prepare. Whatever Jessup wanted, Dean was just going to have to shut-up now and take it, for Sam's sake. He masked his anxiety with a sneer of disdain.

Sam protested valiantly. He wasn't naïve, he knew Dean was in for more than he'd bargained for, and he too had Daniel William's fate on his mind. Daniel had been young and healthy, but he wasn't tough, and he had more than likely died under these same circumstances. And Dean might have a backbone of iron, but he still hadn't fully regained his stamina after the traumas of the past while, despite his vocal denials. "Look...c'mon, please, deputy! You already chose me first. You should have given me that option-"

"Stay out of it, Sam!" Dean threatened.

Sam ignored him. "Sir, I'm asking you...please, let's talk about this. We're not what you think we are, and we didn't come here to cause any trouble. The speeding was a mistake and we're sorry for that, and I agree, my friend's got a big mouth sometimes, but he's not a bad guy...neither of us are."

Jessup snorted.

Sam turned away from Dean and lowered his voice, trying to keep him from hearing. "Sir, please...don't do this! He's...he's not-" Sam sighed, trying to sway the man without raising his brother's ire. "Look, he's still recovering from an accident a while ago It wouldn't be fair, he's really not...uh-"

Dean heard anyway, and Sam was treading a dangerous path. "I said shut the hell up, Sam!" he warned through his teeth.

Jessup was intrigued. "Spit it out, boy! He's not _what_?"

Sam swallowed, and shot a furtive glance at Dean. "...Strong enough, for this."

Dean bristled at that, letting loose a string of heart-felt curses and delivering a furious kick to the bars that separated them. Jessup was properly offended by the language. On any other day he might have been touched by the loyalty shown here, but this blasphemous sinner really had it coming now.

"Well, that was very noble, son...truly inspiring. But I can see that your partner here is right enough to make amends."

Dean voiced his agreement, with a pointed glare at Sam. "It'll be fine, Sam." he growled.

Jessup chuckled. "Oh I don't think it will, really."

He stepped back and launched into a well-practiced oratory. It was spoken with all the solemn piety of a well rehearsed sermon. Sam wondered how often he'd done this before.

"I am Warren Amos Jessup, duly appointed Deputy Sheriff of Bethel County, and faithful soldier of the Lord."

-_uh oh_-

"I judge you to be in contempt of the laws of God and Nature and the laws of this county. You are convicted of the offense of deviance. You are convicted of the offense of blasphemy. And you are convicted of the offense of exceeding a posted speed limit of Bethel county and operating a motor vehicle in a reckless manner. Do you repent, sir?"

Sam and Dean had exchanged incredulous looks. –_Deviance and blasphemy? Repent_?… Great. Jessup was a certifiable zealot and they were stuck alone with him here in the twilight zone. Dean's brief thoughts of showing a more prudent attitude evaporated. "You're freaking nuts! No, I don't repent! You don't have the god-given right to do this, get me a lawyer, this is bullshit!" he snapped over his shoulder.

"Well alright, then…" Jessup said quietly. " And you won't be needing any lawyer now. Court is adjourned, you are found guilty. " He leaned toward Dean's face, saying quietly, "You brought this on yourself, son...you remember that."

The deputy calmly drew his baton. Sam couldn't help it, he had to turn away. The deputy saw it. "Eyes forward, boy! You watch this now and learn from it!" he ordered. Jessup drew back and struck Dean brutally hard across the shoulders. Dean winced and pressed his lips tight, determined not to utter a sound.

"Don't! Please, don't do that!" Sam pleaded. This was too hard to bear, so close yet unable to do a damn thing to stop it.

But Dean gave him a thin smile and quietly assured him that it really would be alright. He was a good liar.

"Do you repent-?" the deputy demanded.

Didn't matter if he did, he knew Jessop was nowhere near ready to quit. "Go to hell!"

This time it struck him solidly across his ribs. He exhaled hard but he kept his mouth clenched shut. It was more painful than he'd expected, but he shook it off and glared over his shoulder at the self proclaimed Officer of God.

Sam voiced another anxious protest, but Dean shushed him angrily.

"Do you repent?"

"Bite me!"

The third struck across the small of his back. -_That hurt_- He let out a strangled curse despite himself, but still he stubbornly shook his head at his brother. Sweat began to bead on his brow and dampen his tee-shirt. Sam urged him to appease Jessop, but he refused. He knew the type. Jessup was a bully, and one with an agenda. Dean knew that if he didn't satisfy the perverse need of this megalomaniac, he'd turn on Sam after all. Going through this half-assed would be a pointless sacrifice, and he figured he was in it now, might as well provoke Jessup to get it all out of his system for the sake of Sam's safety. And he had to admit, he had brought it on himself. "It's ok, Sam." he whispered repeatedly. It was as much for his own benefit as for his brother's.

"I ask you again...do you repent?"

Dean took a deep breath. "F—k you!"

Number four crossed the three previous welts, the friction broke his skin and Dean shut his eyes tightly and shuddered. -_sonofabitch had a hell of an arm_- He really wished Sam wasn't literally in his face. His felt his stoicism waning and the last thing he wanted was an audience.

Sam was becoming frantic, yanking at his handcuffs in vain.

Dean whispered "Don't, Sammy, please...just ride it out."

"I said, do you repent, damn it?"

Dean clenched his teeth and growled "And I said go to hell, you twisted freak!"

Blow number five struck a kidney. The pain was intense and sickening, and he moaned, his resolve melting momentarily as his knees buckled. -_remember Daniel, protect Sam_- He straightened up with a groan and gripped the bars harder.

Sam grew wild with frustration at his helplessness. His face was a mere foot away from Dean's, and it agonized him to watch the beating take its toll. He howled at Jessup to stop.

The deputy smiled benignly. "This can stop anytime. He knows what he has to say."

Sam turned pleading eyes toward Dean, begging, "Please...please, just tell him what he wants to hear!"

"I said...no," Dean panted. He wanted more than words could express for this to be over but he was sure the deputy wasn't done yet. He hoped it would be enough soon.

Number six must have been a good one, he didn't quite remember it. Nor was he clear about seven. But somehow, he managed to stay up, though he stopped his whispered reassurances.

The deputy knew what he was doing, he'd done it often enough to hone his methods and his blows were skillfully aimed. Dean quit trying to stand at eight. And he cried out despite his gritted resolve at nine.

But ten...ten was a good round number. Ten had to be enough. When the question was put to him yet again, he caught Sam's anguished eyes before closing his own, and whispered a different answer, almost too quietly to hear.

Jessup leaned close. "Say again?"

Dean's head lolled, and he breathed in short gasps. His eyes were glazed and his full weight now hung painfully on his hand-cuffed wrists. Dean was done, whether the good deputy was or not. He lifted his head and tried to raise his voice above a whisper. "I repent."

"Don't think I heard you quite right." Jessop delivered a final lesson for posterity , slamming the heel of the weapon viciously hard into Dean's right side. He gasped at the crunch of bone.

"You heard him fine, you sick sonofabitch!" Sam howled, tears streaming shamelessly. "He said what you wanted!"

Jessup just regarded him serenely. He was satisfied, his work was done here. He'd delivered his sentence, it was up to god to do the forgiving. He undid the cuffs and let Dean's limp form drop. _Stubborn bastard._..if he'd begged, he might've allowed it to end at five or six.

Dean passed out as he hit the floor. Jessup stepped over him and informed Sam that the fine owed for the speeding ticket was $175, cash, debit or credit. They could go anytime after it was paid. He strongly encouraged him to leave the county, drive safely from now on, and have a nice day.

As soon as Sam had paid it, he was allowed to return to Dean's cell, and he knelt anxiously at his side. He cradled his head and peered into his face, trying hard to keep his emotions in check. "Aw Dean….aw man..."

Dean drifted near consciousness, lying in a fetal trembling with shock. Spots of blood were beginning to seep into the sweat of his tee-shirt. He blinked several times, and whispered, "Sammy...?"

"I'm here, Dean." Sam spoke to him gently, patting his damp face. He really needed him to come around. At the moment, Jessop ignored them, but he was worried the deputy would change his mind, or their pictures would come up in the database. The sooner they fled this nuthouse the better.

"C'mon, Dean...I know it hurts, but you need to get up. The Impala is waiting, he'll let us go if you can leave right now. Please, Dean...you have to try-"

"Can't." Dean whispered. "You go ahead, Sam...I'll catch up later."

Sam wiped his own eyes clear and slid his hands under Dean's shoulders. "Sorry, man...it's gotta be now." He hauled him up, and slung him over his shoulder, closing his ears to his weak protests and carrying him to the impound yard where the Impala waited unharmed. He folded him into the back, ignoring his strangled cry. No chance to make him comfortable at the moment. He'd seek some sort of medical attention as soon as he was able to stop safely. He turned the key and hit the gas as the car roared to life. And without a backward glance he fled the scene of their bizarre and unhappy encounter. Deputy Jessup tailed him, smiling, all the way to the state border.

Dean lay on his side, cursing quietly with the jolting of the car. The touch of the firm seat against his bludgeoned back was excruciating. He tried to quell the waves of nausea, but it was a losing battle. "Aw, crap… Sam, pull over—I'm gonna be sick!"

"I can't, Dean...Jessup's right on my tail. Just do what you have to, it's ok, I'll fix it all up again, don't worry." Sam glanced in the rear-view and winced in sympathy as his brother swore and retched repeatedly.

"Water?" Dean rasped, wiping tears from his eyes. Sam was already rummaging for a bottle under the seat, and he opened it and handed it back to him.

He choked some of it down. "I swear I'm gonna kill that...holy sonofabitch!" he vowed, shaking with fury and pain.

"Easy Dean. Just lie still until I can get us some help, ok?"

Dean grunted and shut his eyes.

Sam was a nervous wreck. It took nearly an hour to cross back into Mississippi; he knew Dean was suffering but Jessup shadowed him the entire way. Finally he reached the border, and as he crossed over, he heaved a shaky sigh of relief as the deputy turned around and left them. "We're safe now, Dean...we'll find some help soon."

Dean offered no answer, and Sam swore to himself. His nerves were flayed raw, and his mind stormed with worry, frustration, and fury. His eyes pricked with hot, blurring tears and he ground the gas pedal down as hard as he could.


	5. Chapter 5

PART 5

He checked his mirrors nervously. Speed was the catalyst of this disaster in the first place, it would be a bitter irony if he was pulled over now. He could hear Dean voicing quiet distress at the rough ride. "Dean, are you ok?"

He didn't answer. Sam turned and checked on him. He was semi aware, but his eyes were half closed, his expression one of absolute misery. Following the signs, Sam drove to the nearest town. He stopped at a pharmacy and asked where the closest medical clinic was. When he'd located it, he left Dean for a moment while he went in and explained their trouble.

"Excuse me, uh….my brother's out in the car. He was beaten, a couple of hours ago...he's really in a lot of pain. We don't have coverage, but we can pay. Please, could a doctor just take a quick look at him?"

The nurse could see that the young man was very distressed. They were preparing to close for the day, but she saw the need. "Bring him in, honey. We'll see him."

Sam nodded gratefully. He returned to the car, carefully extricated Dean, and supported him as he staggered in. The nurse took one look at him and she put aside the paperwork, and directed them to an examining room where they waited for the doc. Dean sat shivering on the edge of the table, leaning forward and resting his head on Sam's shoulder. He was in too much pain to feel any embarrassment.

"They'll be here any minute." Sam reassured him. Dean didn't say anything. He'd been nearly silent for the past hour. The usual piss & vinegar attitude was conspicuously absent and Sam hated it. A quiet Dean was a bad sign.

* * *

><p>After an endless moment, she came in.<p>

"I hear you had a run-in." she said. She checked the basics first, then asked a series of questions. Once they were answered, she cut to the chase. "Now, tell me what happened."

Dean raised his head with effort. "I met a guy who didn't like me much." he said softly.. "Got hit...a few times."

"Mm hmm. Where were you hit?"

"My back."

"Well, let's have a look at you."

"Wait...Sam, could you get me a clean shirt out of the car? I'm cold, make it a long sleeved one."

"Uh...sure." He left to retrieve it.

She looked at her patient shrewdly. "You prefer that your brother not see?"

Dean sighed. "It'll just upset him."

She carefully pulled the fabric of his shirt free from where it stuck to the abrasions, and drew it over his head. The bruising was revealed, and it was appalling. "Oh no.." She silently counted the welts, the frown deepening on her troubled face. This was no back-alley argument, she knew the marks made by a police-issue baton.

" A Bethel County welcome." she said grimly.

"Yeah...how did you know?"

"We're the nearest medical facility on the highway outside the border. You're not the first recipient of good Deputy Warren Jessup's twisted justice to have come through here. But so far I'd say you hold the record for bruises. What was your sin?"

"Speeding first. Then he decided we were gay. And then I mouthed off."

She sighed. " That'd do it, alright." She gently pressed and probed as Dean shuddered.

"Have you passed any blood?"

"Not yet…I threw up, though."

"Understandable. You could have suffered a bruised kidney, judging from the position of some of these marks. If you do see colour, you'd better get in to emergency to get checked out. And you have a couple of potential rib fractures, down here on the right. There's some swelling, but I don't think I feel any depression or displacement. All I can do here is wrap it. It will heal but you have to protect it." She sighed, shaking her head ruefully. "Wow...you must have really pissed him off!" She cleansed his broken skin with antiseptic and applied dressings where they were needed, and then bound his middle as he gasped and gripped the table's edge. It was all he could do not to curse out loud, and if she prodded any more she'd have to peel him off the ceiling.

"Hurts, huh?" she asked gently, her sympathy genuine. "I'm going to give you a shot of a strong painkiller, ok? You'll travel a lot easier. I know you probably want to get the hell away from crazytown, but it would be best if you found a motel for now, and rest for a couple of days."

He nodded. He didn't have a whole lot left for conversation.

She handed a him a scrip. "This is for a muscle relaxant and painkiller. You have a lot of deep contusions, you're going to stiffen up tonight and possibly experience some back spasms. But listen, this is very important—these will make you very dozy, so do not drive, and do not drink while you are taking these, understand?"

Dean acknowledged, with absolutely no intention of obeying the second order.

She gave him his shot as he closed his eyes and turned his head. She smiled to herself. The tough ones were always skittish about needles.

"Thanks doc." he mumbled.

Sam had returned with the shirt. He stayed by the door as she helped her patient into it. He knew Dean had wanted privacy, hence the shirt request. He'd respect that, but he was going to see things for himself when they stopped for the night.

The doctor reassured Sam that Dean would be alright as long as they could rest for a few days. She reiterated her warnings about the prescription, adding, "The exam's on the house...my little way of righting a wrong when I can. Just stay out of trouble for a while, ok boys?" She didn't bother suggesting that they pursue charges against the deputy. No one ever did.

They thanked her again. Sam helped Dean down and guided him out the door.

As he was leaving, the doctor called out, "Oh, but you do have to buy a chocolate bar at the desk, they're two bucks, fundraising for my son's football team." she smiled.

After getting Dean settled in the car, Sam returned and bought the whole box.

* * *

><p>He found a place to stay a few miles up the highway. It wasn't too bad, it even had a pool. No water in it, but it was a pool nonetheless. Dean's shot had begun to take effect, the tension had left his face and he was drifting. Sam carried their gear in first, then left the door open in case he had to carry Dean in.<p>

He shook him gently. "C'mon, Dean...got a nice bed ready for you, wake up."

Dean frowned and swatted his hand away, not caring to open his eyes. Sam sighed, lifted his brother's arm around his neck and slipped a hand behind him. But Dean froze and gasped in protest and Sam realized he couldn't lift him without putting undue pressure on his injuries, so he returned to his tactic of waking him.

"Dean! Come on now, we're here...you can't stay in the car." He continued to shake him until he got a lucid cursing and Dean reluctantly let himself be hauled out. Sam steered him directly in to a bed, easing him down onto the thin mattress.

Dean settled on his stomach, pulling his arms close with a groan. Sam tugged off his shoes and carefully replaced the blanket over him.

"Thanks, Sam." he whispered.

"No prob. I have to go out to get your meds, though...you ok til I get back?"

Dean's response was the deeper breathing of sleep.

* * *

><p>Upon returning from his errand, Sam stowed the provisions he'd picked up, and dropped onto his own bed. He was exhausted, this day had been an ordeal for both of them. He stared at the ceiling, deeply troubled by the cruelty they'd endured, and by the reality that Dean's reckless attitude and relentless pride had once again brought harsh consequences. It was the downside to his brash strength. He sighed, and looked over at his sleeping brother. -<em>jackass<em>— Now was as good a time as any to check the damage for himself. He silently stood up and hovered over Dean, carefully lifting the blanket, and then the shirt.

-_Jesus!_ He was astonished by what he saw. Dean's entire back was a deep mottled purple, broken by blanched, abraded marks left by the impact of that damned club. They'd both been kicked around in their chosen line of work, countless times...but Sam had never seen anything like this. He swore and turned his eyes away, his vision blurring for a moment, and gently replaced the covers.

"Well….there you go, Sammy. The moral is; know when to shut-up." Dean said quietly.

Sam was startled, he'd thought Dean was asleep. He knelt beside him. "God, it looks awful, Dean. How do you feel?"

"Ok at the moment…shot's working fine." But he sighed dejectedly. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

The drug Dean had been given was a strong one. It relieved his pain, but it loosened his tongue as well. "Sorry…" he sighed. "I'm really sorry. You coulda got hurt...all my fault. If I'd kept my damn mouth shut, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

-_you think?_- Sam had to talk about it while he could. With the drug hitting him, Dean was uncharacteristically open…it was a rare opportunity. He questioned gently. "Dean….why wouldn't you just say what he wanted? You just kept refusing, pushing him... _God_, it was killing me, you know? If you just gave in, it might have been ok. But you let your pride really get you hurt this time. Why?"

Dean wished he would drop it and just leave him alone, but he tried to clarify. "No! _Christ_, Sam, I'm not_ that_ proud. And I'm not some masochist, I'd have freaking 'repented' at one or two. But _I_ asked for it, _I_ opened my yap, you didn't. I couldn't let this fall on your head too. Danny Williams is dead because of Jessup. I knew he wouldn't quit 'til he got enough freaking 'atonement'. So I pushed it. I just… had to make sure he was satisfied enough, so he'd leave you alone."

"Aw jesus Dean!" Sam said miserably. He ran his hand through his hair, overcome with guilt and fury.

"I had to let him do it, Sam...he would've gone after you. You heard his speech, you know it. And it was my fault. I pissed him off… my fault-" He was starting to ramble, on the verge of drug-induced sleep. Sam leaned closer, and he saw tears slide away from Dean's closed eyes. He was still murmuring, but Sam couldn't make it out anymore.

* * *

><p>Sam sought out the bourbon Dean always had in his gear. He wanted desperately to purge these nightmarish scenes from his mind. He checked on Dean, relieved that he was deep in merciful sleep, probably would be for hours. He downed a healthy glassful, and then another, and settled back on his lumpy bed. He closed his eyes, begging sleep to overtake his memories.<p>

It wasn't working. When he shut his eyes, all he could see was Dean's expression changing from cocky insolence to tears of pain and defeat in ten agonizing stages. He got up and poured himself another shot, and when it started to relax some of his tension he allowed himself to drift off.

* * *

><p>Dean had been trying to rouse Sam for some time without success. The needle's effects had worn off and morning had brought with it fresh agony. As predicted, the abused muscles in his back had rebelled by tightening against each other, and he quickly learned that attempts to move were a lousy idea. He couldn't yell because the soreness in his ribs wouldn't allow him to inhale deeply enough. If he didn't get Sam's attention soon he was going to have an accident and his humiliation would come full circle. He finally shoved something off the night stand, and the noise woke Sam.<p>

Once alert, Sam instantly looked to his brother. "You alright, Dean?"

"No—!" he grimaced, angry. "Help me get to the can, will you?"

The bathroom door was miles away and he could barely lift his head. Sam helped him through that ordeal and got him back onto the bed. "I'll get you something to eat, you can't take these on an empty stomach."

"Don't, I'll hurl."

"You will for sure if you swallow these on empty. How 'bout just some crackers to start?"

"Fine." Anything to get the damn painkiller. He squinted at a welcome shape in his view. "Is that the bourbon?"

"Yep…what's left of it, anyway."

"Hand it to me…"

"Sorry man...as much as I'd love to give it to you, it'll be a bad mix right now."

Dean swore. If he wasn't so damned weak he'd have crawled over and drained it. He took the crackers instead, and when they were safely staying put, Sam gave him his pills with some water. "You're a little warm…" he fretted, his hand on Dean's sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh." Dean kept his eyes closed, tapping his foot with agitation as he waited desperately for the drug to kick in. Until it did he didn't feel much like talking.

Sam sat with him in silence for some time, watching for the sign that it was working. Finally Dean's taut grimace softened and the tapping stopped. His clenched hands relaxed and his breathing evened out.

"Better..?"

"Yeah, thanks." Dean answered gratefully. He knew from experience that he had a short window where he could think clearly, unhindered by pain but not yet drowsy. "So now what? We have to go back, Sam. I'm sure that bastard killed Daniel, it all fits. We have to finish this."

"No Dean, you need to be still for a few days."

"I can lie still at the motel back there, Sam. And you can get back to that camp. I mean, seriously, I don't really care if those bastards are all wasted by that kid, but we can't risk other people dying." He took a deep breath, already finding it difficult to keep his train of thought. "As long as we avoid Jessup on the road back, we're better off at the other place. All our gear is there, and your computer...can't risk it getting taken…"

Sam knew he was right. "Ok Dean...in a little while, alright?"

Dean nodded. He wanted to plan, to further their investigation. But he realized then that he was already losing clarity, his thoughts were in a loop.. He gave in to the haziness and drifted off.

Sam called the camp director, explaining that his brother had had an accident and that he was helping him, and would be back at camp by the evening. He wished he had his computer, he wanted to mapquest a backroads route to the motel, but he'd just have to wing it. He figured he'd let Dean sleep for a few hours, or until he awoke on his own. Then they'd sneak back over the border to Louisiana. And there was this Sheriff McClary. Sam needed to find out about him, to meet him. They already knew that Jessup was a brute with dangerous ideas. Was McClary a man of the same ilk as his deputy? Or was he the fair lawman he was supposed to be? He may not even know anything about Jessup's activities, he had, after all—been frequently absent with the teaching stint. If he had confidently left the office in the hands of his second in command during those times, and if no one complained about him—he would have had no reason to doubt his fitness for the job. The very moral Deputy Jessup probably made a damned good impression. He glanced over at Dean. He was sleeping comfortably, thank god.

He was still frustrated and angry that Dean's temper and big mouth had escalated this, but he also realized that Jessup had an agenda already, the moment he pulled them over and made his ridiculous assumptions. One or both of them would have gotten smacked around anyway, but perhaps not quite as severely. But remembering that miserable experience, he couldn't help but be grateful for Dean's sacrifice. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to take it quite as stoically. He may not always have wisdom, but Dean had grit, to say the least.

He thought he should check the condition of his injuries, lifting the shirt enough to get a clear view. He'd hoped to see some improvement, but wasn't surprised to see that it looked worse. Bruises always looked worse before they started to fade.

-_Fade—_ He was suddenly struck by a realization. The faded marks on the victims, they were a dead match for Dean's injuries. It _was_ a message. Dean was right, Daniel Williams had most certainly died at the hands of Jessup. It knotted Sam's guts. Even if Daniel's death had been an unplanned result of his beating, Jessup had a taste for it now. Sam scowled in bitter anger, remembering the last blow the bastard had delivered to his brother. By then, Dean had already been beaten nearly unconscious, but he hurt him again anyway. Dean was lucky to be alive. They had to stop him.

He thought about the two dead counselors. Both died in the vicinity of the trail, both in the same general area. Maybe Daniel's power to harm was limited to the spot where he lay buried….it explained why he didn't go after the counselors in the camp, or anywhere else. Sam realized he'd better warn them to stop doing the hikes for a while. He'd have to make up some reason, wasps, or skunks, –whatever. He was definitely going to EMF that trail asap.

Sam realized he was still weary. He decided to cat-nap himself for an hour or so. He didn't know what he'd be up to that night, or how late it would get.

* * *

><p>By the time 3 o'clock rolled around, Sam was up and fixing them something to eat. Dean had awakened, hurting. He was feverish, and he growled that he wasn't hungry, but Sam wasn't letting him get away with it this time. He forced him to eat a sandwich and drink something, and rewarded him with another dose.<p>

It was time to take their chances on the road. "Where do you want to sit, front or back?"

"Depends...barf cleaned out?"

"Of course. I told you I would."

Dean grunted his thanks for that. He decided on the front seat anyway. He hated feeling like an invalid lying there in the backseat while Sam drove. He already felt humiliated enough. Sam helped him to the car and Dean arranged himself in such a way that he could drape his left arm over the seat and face Sam. At least then, nothing touched his tender back. They spent a tense hour and a half in the car, in mortal fear that they'd come across the deputy on the road, but thankfully he was doing his good works elsewhere. Sam heaved a heavy sigh of relief when he pulled into the motel parking lot. He untangled himself from Dean, who predictably had fallen asleep and slumped heavily against Sam's shoulder, and headed in. It looked to be in a state that Dean would have left it. Nothing seemed amiss. He returned to the car and gently shook Dean awake.

Dean rubbed his eyes and looked around blankly, slow to comprehend that they were already back in Louisiana. "Man...when did I fall asleep?"

Sam smiled. "Dude, you've been drooling on my collar for an hour. C'mon, let's get you in."

Dean was comfortably drugged and compliant. He let Sam help him right into his bed again.

"Dean, are you ok by yourself for a bit? I wanna go out to get some dinner."

"I'm fine, Sam. Go ahead, just leave my phone within reach."

Sam left to grab some suitable fast food.

Dean was reasonably comfortable but awake. It suddenly struck him, he'd missed his rendezvous with Maggie! That was supposed to be, what, yesterday? He hoped she wasn't too angry. He concentrated hard to remember the number and called Harry's. Well, he called somebody, who didn't appreciate it, but the second time around he got it right. It was busy.

_Shit._ Dean worried she'd be hurt by his no-show. He'd try again later. But he fell asleep again, waiting for the pizza, or chicken, or possum—whatever it was that Sam brought.

"Roadkill special?' he asked when Sam had returned.

"Uh huh. Skunk for you. Partridge for me." He placed the McD's extravaganza in front of him. "If you're a good boy you can have a chocolate bar for dessert."

-_good_—Dean thought. Chocolate was always good, no matter the circumstance.

They devoured the food. Sam was relieved to see his stubborn brother had regained a normal appetite.

"You going back to Camp ?" Dean asked through a mouthful.

Sam nodded. "I'll EMF the trail first. If we can locate Dan's burial place we're way ahead. They won't be expecting me back for duties til next morning." He peered closely at Dean. "Are you clear enough to discuss this?"

Dean felt a little high, but he was still firmly in the present. "Yeah, why?"

"I want to do that trail tonight. We need to know if Dan Williams is there, buried somewhere. It means I'd have to leave you alone, are you ok with that? I mean, I'm expected to sleep at the cabin. And I want to talk to a specific guy about this, another counselor. He seems decent, you know, sort of accidentally caught up in this shit. I think he could shed some light on it all, but I'm scared of leaving you alone."

"What? Why? I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Don't worry about me. I'll be here for a while. The most dangerous thing I'll try is getting to the can by myself. If you want to check that shit out, great. Just call in...a lot. Leave me with my phone, …and that bottle over there, and some chips, and the remote...and those chocolate bars. I'll be fine…"

Sam was both buoyed and fearful. Dean was recovering some of his attitude, which was good. Not easy, but good nonetheless. But he was still uncomfortable leaving him just the same. But the job required it.

When both were filled, Sam made moves to go back to the camp. "You're sure you'll be ok?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, for the tenth time. Just check in. I'll be here—" Dean snorted.

"Ok. I'll do the trail and call you, and you stay put."

They agreed to the terms, and Sam left in the impala, leaving Dean to continue his recovery.


	6. Chapter 6

PART 6

Sam was nervous. Throughout his drive back to camp, he berated himself for leaving Dean alone. He was still hurting too much and practically immobile. He felt like one of those bad mothers who left their toddlers in a playpen with a box of cereal and a bottle while they went off to the casino… But he knew he had no choice, Dean had regained enough of his regular self to make any coddling impossible. And neither of them liked to spend too much time on any one hunt, it just wasn't safe to do that, so it was important to try to find Daniel's burial place. He stopped in to see the director and inform him that he was back. Mr. Beauforte was relieved to see him, the kids had been anxiously asking for their newest and favourite counselor.

"How is your brother, Sam?" he asked with genuine concern.

Sam was honest. "He was pretty banged up...he's got some recovery ahead, but he'll be fine. Thanks for asking, sir."

Beauforte smiled. "Anything we can do, you just let us know." He returned to his tasks. He was just about ready to head home for the evening.

Sam decided to raise the subject of Daniel Williams. "Uh, Sir...I need to talk to you about something. It's a little...sensitive."

"Sit down, Sam. What's on your mind?"

Sam sat. He knew this was delicate, but it needed to be addressed for several reasons, and not just for Daniel.

"I...uh, heard about the counselor who disappeared from here a while back. People are very upset about the other deaths...but when it comes to this, they turn away, or change the subject. From what I know, he seemed to be a good kid. I've heard a few things. Was there...something different about him…?" Sam was probing to see what sort of man the director was. He needed to know, he had to decide who could be looked to for leadership when this came to a head. Sheriff McClary was still an unknown, so he had to know...was Beauforte a bigot or a good man?

Beauforte frowned. He looked at Sam with disappointment. "Daniel Williams was a good person. He had every right to be here, teaching these kids. Are you asking about anything specific? Because I'll tell you right now. Danny was kind. He was moral. He was a great counselor. He could make a kayak turn on a dime. And yes, he was gay. He confided that to me when he interviewed for the post. He didn't have to. It was none of my business, just as it is none of yours. But I appreciated his honesty, and his character, and I hope to God that he's ok, somewhere. Sam, I like you. But if you have a problem with that, then you don't belong here. I want these kids to learn to be good, thoughtful, accepting people. No type of bigotry will be tolerated here."

Sam was impressed by his words. He was sure they were genuine. He hastened to assure him he had no such problem. It wasn't his intention when he'd asked his question, but he decided to fill the director in on what was happening. Beauforte had to have his eyes opened to what was going on under his nose. "Sir, there is a reason that I brought this up. I know about Danny. I had to see your feelings on the matter. There are some things you need to know." Sam felt a little disloyal, like some kind of snitch, but this was too important to let slide. Beauforte leaned forward and listened with a serious intensity.

"Go, on, son."

"Danny Williams was picked on after hours by the other counselors. They didn't know about his orientation per se, but they suspected. The leaders have formed a "club" and they are very selective regarding who's fit to be in it. They're anti-gay, for one, and who knows what beyond that. Jeff Reigert is the bandleader. I learned what happened the night before Danny went missing. They forced Danny to admit to his orientation in a "hazing" ritual they have, and then they beat him and chased him out of the park. He went to his sister's after that, and she convinced him to press charges in the morning. And we all know he never made it it, or something happened to him on the way."

Sam let that sink in before he continued.

Beauforte was open mouthed, shaking his head.

"I've known Jeff for years...I always thought of him as a good leader. Are you sure about this, Sam? How can you know this?" He didn't want to believe it. He thought he had a good staff, reliable and decent.

"I know because I was put through the same little ritual, on my first night here. There was a lot of drinking around a campfire. Jeff tried to drug me with something in his bottle, but I faked it. The point was to admit to some terrible secret...and if they thought it rated, you were in. That drug probably removes your inhibitions to the point where you will reveal pretty much anything. It obviously worked on Danny. And when they heard it, they had a great time drumming him out…"

Beauforte's face went red. He was horrified, and furious that this could happen on his watch. "Sam, if this is true, I'm going to get to the bottom of it. I will weed out those responsible, and I assure you they'll be immediately fired, to start with. I'm going to call the sheriff. Poor Daniel—"

"Sir, wait...please. There's more. This is much more serious than a simple bullying."

The director sat down again.

"I know for a fact that Dan went that next morning to lodge a complaint with the sheriff's office. His sister thought he'd never made it, she was told that by Deputy Jessup. She was the last to see him, or so she thought. She's the one who called in the missing person. Well sir, she _wasn't_ the last. We're pretty sure Jessup was. Daniel went to the sheriff's office, but McClary was gone. Jessup took the complaint. And that's where it got really ugly…"

Beauforte interrupted. "Now wait a minute! Deputy Jessup is a good man, a huge supporter of this camp. He represents the Sheriff's office every year with a sizable donation. We could hardly run this camp without it!"

Sam realized he had to tread carefully here. With the Sheriff's Office being a major patron for the camp, it was going to be difficult to convince the director of the reality. "Sir...how long have you known him?"

"Well...my only interaction with him is through this camp. And my church. I don't know him on a personal level. He is thought of as a very upstanding man. I know some have found him to be somewhat rigid in his beliefs—he seems to live a very Christian life, and has been known to be somewhat over-public about that. But I can never fault a man for being_ too_ good."

"Well, Sir, _too good_ is not one of the deputy's faults. Deputy Jessup is a dangerous homophobic zealot, and he has no qualms about violently delivering what he believes is god-sanctioned punishment. Daniel Williams found that out. He went there for justice, but instead, we believe he was beaten by Jessup for his orientation and that he died as a result. Sir...I think Danny is buried somewhere here on the hiking trail. And I think at least one, if not all, of your counselors know where." Sam didn't go so far as to tell of Daniel's vengeful spirit. That didn't need to be dealt with here.

Beauforte shook his head in horror and denial. "No! No...how can you know this? And what do you mean by "we"? Who are you?"

Sam swallowed and dove in. "My name is Sam, and I came here to investigate these deaths. And the 'we' includes myself and my brother. And sir...I do know that this happened as I've described. Because Deputy Warren Jessup arrested the two of us for speeding two days ago. He made an immediate assumption that we were gay companions. We couldn't reveal who we are because of this investigation. Well Sir...he handcuffed my brother to a cell and beat him unconscious as a result. There was no car accident. Jessup has his own twisted brand of law and justice, and if we don't stop him more people will suffer or die."

Beauforte sat stunned. Everything he believed in, everything he wanted to see furthered through this camp, was tainted...poisoned by the very people he'd chosen. And Daniel. Daniel Williams was dead, apparently at the hands of an individual he'd thought of as a living example of the ideals he was trying to teach. It was too much. He dropped his head to his hands and wept quietly.

Sam placed his hand on the older man's shoulder, awkwardly. He didn't know how to help him. But he knew what had to be finished. "Sir, I know this is very hard for you. But I need your help to end this. Can you talk to me...please?"

The director gathered himself with a heavy sigh and nodded miserably.

"I need to know about Sheriff McClary. Do you know him? Anything about him? I need to know if we can count on him for real justice, or if he's another liability. I have to know his character."

Beauforte thought about it for a moment. Everything he thought true was in a shambles here, and he hesitated to make a character assessment now that could also be another illusion. "Sam... I've known Don McClary for fifteen years. He's not a churchman, but I've never thought any less of him for that. He's supported this camp through the official sponsorship donation, but also through the community. He's brought countless kids through here, kids who were disadvantaged, or headed for trouble. Kids who fall through the cracks. Again, I don't know him personally, but I consider him to be a good man...a man who proves his goodness through quiet works, not showy words. And I've never heard anything negative. He strikes me as fair. But...I've obviously been wrong before…"

Sam absorbed that. Beauforte was a quality person. His concise assessment of McClary rang true. It made him feel secure, at least they may have him to count on. He thanked the poor director for his candor and asked him to keep it all close-to-vest until Sam had more to pursue, or a clearer plan. The director nodded. Sam assured the disillusioned administrator that they would fix this wrong. Justice would be served.

Beauforte raised his head, asking, "Sam, your brother...will he be alright?"

Sam assured him that he would. The saddened director left for his home.

* * *

><p>Sam exited the office and headed for his cabin. He felt odd, like he was being watched. He was uncomfortably aware of the sounds of soft footfalls, crunching pine needles, as he left. But he chalked it up to nerves. He was anxious to speak to Dean and to describe this latest exchange. But he'd wait 'til he'd walked the trail. No reason to wake Dean from healing sleep before it was necessary.<p>

* * *

><p>Dean slept until he couldn't stand lying on his stomach anymore. He awoke to the quiet dark of the motel room, fidgety, and hot. And thirsty. He decided to try to sit up, maybe even find his way to the bathroom, and a tap. He held his breath and rolled onto his left side carefully, and swung his feet down. He pulled himself to a sitting position. <em>-ok—ok-it's all good-<em> Well, not all good. It hurt. He broke out in a sheen of sweat, and gripped the headboard rungs hard. He'd been lying down so damn long, he should have gotten up more slowly. He cursed, he always forgot about head-rush. For a moment he was sure that supper was lost. _God,_ the room was stifling. It smelled a bit like a hamster cage.

But the panicky feeling passed. He wiped his face with his hand, and checked his watch. 7:24. He wondered if Sam had started on the trail.—he hoped he'd call soon.

He was reminded again that he had yet to make contact with Maggie. She was gonna be pissed now for sure. Scrabbling around for the switch on the lamp—he knocked the toasted crust of dried flies off the bulb,-and with the help of its dim light he found his phone and dialed Harry's again. Once again it was busy. -_Crap_— What the hell kind of business was Bill running there? Nowadays everybody had some sort of freaking voicemail, or answering machine. He tossed the phone back onto the bed in irritation and leaned against the headboard. He checked his watch again. It was a whole four minutes past the last time. It was official. He was gonna go nuts in this place. He had to get up.

He visually calculated the distance from where he sat, to the bathroom door. It looked reasonable. But he soon found out that it was hard to do anything while trying to keep from using any back muscles. There was nothing to grab on the wall, just a velvet harlequin picture in a plastic frame, held there by cobwebs and a rusty tack._ -Suck it up, Winchester, you pussy!_- he growled to himself. He pushed off from the top rail of the headboard and lurched in his chosen direction. But with the stiffness, and his shaky equilibrium, he had no way to compensate, and his over-zealous launch crashed him headfirst into the cheap slab door. - _Good thing it wasn't oak_- he thought, sliding to the bathroom floor. He decided to stay there for a little while. At least the tiles were cool.

-_alright—c'mon_- With a groan, he got onto his hands and knees and sought out the doorknob. He grabbed it tightly and hauled himself to his feet again. He rested there for a moment, and when he felt that it was working, he shuffled to the sink and filled a glass, soothing his parched throat. -_better_— He made use of the other facilities and contemplated the shower. The idea of a shower was good, he wasn't too sure if the reality would be. But he was disgusted by himself. He had to give it a shot.

He got the water running at a decent temp, he didn't want to be shocked when he got in. He stripped carefully. Remembering he had to remove the wrap, he shuffled back to the mirror and tried to turn his stiff neck enough to get a look at it. He hadn't seen the damage yet, and what little he could glimpse from his vantage point shocked even him. - _Christ!_- That looked nasty. It renewed his vow to make sure that sonofabitch paid hard for this. He reached back and unwound the bandage, gingerly running his fingers over the affected ribs. -_yeah, cracked, at the very least_—he thought, drawing a sharp breath as his fingertips found the spot the hard way.

He got into the shower, and shuddered as the droplets hit. But once his abraded skin got used to it, it was wonderful. He spent a long time just standing, letting the warm water flow over him soothingly, cleansing some of the anger and humiliation from his soul. He was finally convinced to get out when someone in the neighbouring room turned on the hot tap, blasting him with a shock of icy water. He jerked away from the shower stream with an impressive string of epithets, shutting it off and getting a grip on the rush of pain the sudden movement brought. The only thing keeping him from passing out right there was his determination that he was not going to suffer the indignity of being found in a naked crumpled heap by his little brother. He carefully patted himself dry with a once-white towel, re-taped his midriff, found something clean to wear and dressed. _–that was good—right up until it wasn't_-

He made his way to the kitchenette, picking up and checking his phone on the way. Still no Sam. He found the box of chocolate bars, much to his delight, grabbing two and sitting himself down at the little arborite table. But when he unwrapped the bar, the scent of the chocolate made him feel faintly ill rather than hungry. He pushed it away and leaned forward, resting his head on his arms on the cool surface of the table. He stayed that way for a little while, wishing he knew where Sam had put his meds. He was starting to feel a little anxious that he hadn't yet heard from him.

It was still lightish outside, but he knew the trail in the woods would have already been dark for a while. At least Sam had left with a good flashlight. For a moment he even thought of driving up there, but he remembered both cars were now already at the camp, he was once again without wheels. The last of the painkiller had by now deserted him. If he could just _not_-breathe for a little while, his ribs might settle down a bit. He didn't feel up to the task of ransacking the place for the pills at the moment, figuring he'd just stay there with his head on the table. It wasn't so bad. -_C'mon, Sammy, call in-_

* * *

><p>Sam regretted that he was starting his search of the trail so late. He had a good flashlight, but it wasn't the same as searching in the muted daylight amongst the trees and undergrowth. Even the trail, which was fairly clear and free of brush, managed to trip him up at least a half dozen times thus far. He wasn't squeamish about the dark. But here in the trees, every shadow had a menacing quality. It was worsened by the light from his torch, the shadows moved and fled from it as if they had a life of their own. The EMF had blipped a few times, but that was standard. There was no concentrated pocket of energy revealed yet, but the trail was a few miles long, and he wasn't sure where the place was that the other counselors had fallen. He was amazed at the depth of dark amongst the trees. It had an almost tangible, dimensional quality, like a hallway hung with flowing, black velvet drapery.<p>

He carried his cell in his jacket pocket, and his new digital camera around his neck. He smiled at the thought of it. Dean had brought it home for him one afternoon after Florida. He'd been obsessed with the idea for ages. He had gone to a good shop, listened to excellent advice, and come home with one that had a high pixel rating, good optical zoom, and great low light capability. Sam couldn't have made a better choice himself, and it was a hell of a lot better than taking grainy pix with his old phone. At the moment he didn't bother carrying accelerant and salt. Or any unwieldly shovels. He just wanted to see if he could pinpoint the area where Daniel lay. He could deal with the body tomorrow.

He thought of Dean, and he worried about his state. He realized earlier that he'd forgotten to tell him where his meds were, and he hoped he hadn't awakened in need of them yet. He'd let him know they were in his heavier coat when he called in later. He was probably asleep anyway. The forest was much cooler, more damp, than the open areas. He'd thrown a windbreaker on before taking this little hike, more for its convenient pockets than anything else. He was glad of it now. The woods were a strange place at night, an alien environment. Things that hid themselves by day now roamed, or flew, freely...emitting sounds that no one ever heard while the sun shone. Sam found it distracting, even disconcerting. He heard soft hollow sounding footfalls behind him, in front of him, beside him. Every now and then he thought he heard snapping and rustling of the dry detritus that made up the forest floor. He scowled, telling himself to get a grip. He ignored the sounds, listening instead to his own breathing which seemed so loud in the stillness.

Suddenly the EMF lit up like a video game. He was so surprised that he fumbled his flashlight as the unit screamed its high-pitched warning. He retrieved it from the ferns and moved the device in a wide arc, locating the best direction to follow. There was a faint path leading away from the main trail. He picked his way along it until he reached a small rough clearing. It was here that the EMF reached its vocal peak. Sam shut it off for a moment and shone the flashlight over the area.

He wasn't a forestry expert, but he knew disturbed ground when he saw it. Someone had altered the growth pattern here, hauling a number of sticks and twigs to the spot in an unnatural pattern and taking considerable care to replace the plants that had obviously been moved. Forest ecology was delicate, and once plants were uprooted, they rarely bounced back. This area was no exception. The same species were there, but conspicuously wilted and struggling. The rest of the clearing was vibrant with healthy undergrowth. Sam surveyed the spot with his flashlight. It looked like the typical length for a burial, and the EMF backed it up.

He stood back and sighed. "Hello Daniel Williams."


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Sam was relieved that Daniel didn't return his greeting. He turned his camera on and took a few shots, leaving it on and ready should there be any other pictures he might need. He was struck by the lonely sadness of the place. Those were feelings Daniel had probably felt for the better part of his life. He whispered to him, promising that he was not like the other counselors, and that there were others who would fight to bring him the justice he deserved. He also knew that the ghost of Daniel was dangerous, and angry. He hoped to gentle him, and told him that Maggie loved him and missed him terribly. He turned away from the grave and was about to leave the clearing when he stopped short.

"Talking to yourself, Sam? Or are you communing with the spirits?" Randy stood at the edge of the clearing. He had an ugly smile on his face. And a gun, which he swung casually in his hand. "Kinda late for a stroll, isn't it?"

Sam decided to play dumb. "Not really. I like the quiet…"

"Oh...you like the quiet. Sure, that's logical. This little clearing is a nice spot isn't it, Sam. Why did you choose it?"

Sam tried another lie but Randy had enough and cut him off. "Shut the f—k up, will you? You think I'm stupid? Hey-surprise surprise, there's no Sam Singer in the registry files at Stanford. At least not for the year you were supposed to be there. Odd isn't it? Why do you suppose that is?"

Sam was about to offer an explanation, but the weasel would have none of it. He walked slowly around Sam.

Sam surreptitiously switched on the video mode of his camera. He hoped it at least would be able to pick up sound, if not picture, in this dark.

"So who are you, really? A cop? Some kind of private dick? Why'd you have to start digging in this shit?"

Sam decided to guide the conversation as much as he could. "I was hired to look into Daniel Williams' disappearance. You told me that you and the other counselors beat the crap out of him and chased him out. But that wasn't the whole story, now was it?"

Randy snorted. "That was just the start of Danny's fun. Little bastard went to the sheriff, tried to get us all in shit. Didn't work out too well."

"You killed him, didn't you?"

He snorted. "You kinda suck at this PI thing, don't you, Sam? No, we didn't off the little fag. Jessup did. Deputy Jessup. Good guy, he thinks straight, you know? He doesn't like queers either. He knows what to do with them, and he just tied up our loose end." He laughed at that.

"Jessup...the deputy sheriff? He killed Daniel Williams?"

"Yeah, that's right. He asked us to get rid of the garbage. So we buried it here."

"You and Jessup?"

"Me and Jeff. We're the ones who run things around here. Those other two pussies, James and Mike—they don't know anything about it. They just tagged along like puppies when we were pushing that little fag around."

"What about Beauforte?"

Weasel boy spit on the ground. "That old holy-roller doesn't know f—k-all. Just walks around with his jesus-smile on while we run the place."

"What about the two dead guys...why kill them?"

His expression changed for a moment. He wasn't so self-assured. "We didn't. It happened just like they said...they just dropped dead. Right around here. Just like you, Sammy..." The weasel leveled his gun. It was a big service revolver, thoughtfully lent to him by his favourite deputy.

Sam tried a new tact. "C'mon, man...you don't wanna do this. You can't keep making this messier, somebody's gonna notice."

"Not messier, Sam..._tidier_. Give Danny a kiss for me." Randy pulled the trigger without further preamble. He was a cold little piece of work. Sam was anticipating it, he leapt sideways, but not quite quickly enough. It struck the point of his shoulder, grazing him. He dropped and rolled, feeling a flood of warm blood flow down his arm. He gripped it hard with his other hand and tried to scramble out of the weasel's range. Randy swore at his own ineptitude and pointed the gun once again. "I'll blow your goddamn head off this time, you-"

His diatribe was cut short. He stopped and stared, wide-eyed. "You! No, no...you can't be here! I f—king buried you!" he screamed.

Sam saw nothing but a bit of mist, but Randy clearly saw something else. And it horrified him. He stared frantically from Sam to it, and back again. He started to claw at his chest, panting.

"You god-damned queer lover!" he howled at Sam. "You're doing this! You make this stop! You make it go away!" His shaking hand kept the gun aimed at Sam's chest. He was sure that Sam was somehow behind this hideous trick. He was wild with terror, and he pulled the trigger again as his knees buckled. He breathlessly clutched his chest in a frothing panic as his heart beat erratically, then slowed, and stopped. His eyes rolled up. He gurgled out a last sound, fell on his face in the ferns, and lay still.

Daniel Williams was another step closer to justice.

Sam would have been relieved and perhaps, deeply satisfied at this newest twist. But he never had the chance to witness it. He'd been aware of nothing seconds after Randy pulled the trigger that second time. He lay, silent and motionless, sprawled in the undergrowth. Blood streamed steadily across his face from the bullet wound hidden by his unruly dark hair.

* * *

><p>Dean had had enough. He had searched around a bit for the prescriptions, with no luck. The ache was too damned distracting, he still hadn't heard from Sam and he needed to plan what to do next. But all he could think of was crawling into bed and curling up like a hibernating animal. Consciousness sucked out loud.<p>

The bourbon caught his eye again. _ -ah yeah—good medicine anytime_… He reached for it and drained half the remaining volume in a few deep draughts. Having eaten nothing for hours, it started to soothe his frayed nerves within minutes, and he felt his muscles relax a little. He checked his watch for the hundredth time, it was pushing midnight. He'd been calling Sam for the last two hours and he was ready to pulverize his damn cell against the nearest wall.

_-Somebody answer, goddammit!_— The phone at Harry's was constantly busy. He started to think there was some problem with the line. He wished he'd given Maggie his cell number, but he carefully guarded that; the fewer people who knew it, the safer he stayed. So many things could have happened to Sam, and he had no car, no means of contact. All he could do was wait, and he was particularly lousy at that. He felt completely useless. He swore and angrily swept the chocolate bars off the table. The bourbon bottle seduced him again, he took several more deep swallows and put his head back down on the table. He sighed, resigned to wait some more.

He awoke several hours later, parched and stiff, and sheepish that he'd actually slept on the table. He checked the phone in desperation, but no one had called. He got up carefully, waiting this time for the hissing sound to fade before he moved further. He poured himself some water, and then some more. This time he ate one of the chocolate bars and he felt a little better. It was around 4 am. He really couldn't do anything 'til light. Then he'd have to find someone to help him. -_Maggie_- He'd go and see her...her place wasn't far.

He made his way to one of the beds...Sam's, and lay down. He'd need to conserve his strength to walk the distance. It was just ten or fifteen minutes up the street. He sighed. Might as well be a hundred miles. But he'd walk it anyway.

* * *

><p>The night fauna disappeared with the dawn. The other half of the forest life began to wake. The damp that collected in the cool darkness had settled in beads of moisture on everything; the leaf surfaces, the moss and rocks. ..And Sam's nylon jacket.<p>

* * *

><p>Dean walked slowly and carefully up the steps of the porch.<p>

He hoped Maggie was up, it was pretty damned early. Maybe she had the breakfast shift again, then she'd be up and nearly ready to leave. The last thing he wanted was to wake her and give her more fodder for her anger. He waited a moment, then knocked, hearing Ivan's deep voice come from somewhere in the house. The door opened and Maggie regarded him without expression.

"Oh. It's you."

"Maggie, I-" Before he had a chance to finish, Ivan bounded through the door, and joyfully collided with Dean. As always, it caught him off guard, and he was knocked backwards and his bandaged side connected solidly with the wooden railing. He grunted as sharp pain lanced through him. It was too much for his weakened state, he blacked out and slid to the floor boards, with Ivan happily doing his best to revive him.

Maggie's pique was instantly forgotten. She hastily called Ivan off and dropped beside her delinquent lover. She lifted his head carefully, he was stirring and struggling to clear his senses. "Dean ! Oh my god, are you alright? I'm so sorry!"

He sat up with a grimace and rested with his shoulder against the balusters. "It's ok...just give me a minute." he assured her hoarsely. When the pain subsided to a manageable ache he allowed her to help him up. He gripped the railing unsteadily and gave her a wan smile. "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course, yes, come in!" she stammered, flustered.

He steadied himself with a hand on her shoulder, as she led him in to the living-room, and he lowered himself onto her couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands. She got him a glass of water and crouched beside him.

"You're white as a sheet!" She wondered what had caused his faint, she didn't think Ivan had hit him _that_ hard… She reached around and found the edge of his shirt. "Let me see!" she demanded, lifting it.

He grabbed her wrist. "Don't Maggie, it's ok, really…"

"No it isn't, Dean, obviously!" She pulled her hand free of his and hauled the shirt up. He sat in acute embarrassment, as she gasped in dismay. "Oh my god! What...what happened to you?"

He sighed, turning tired eyes to hers. "I had a run-in with your deputy. Maggie, I have an idea what happened to Danny. Sit down, here...for a minute."

Her expression changed from concern to alarm. She sat beside him.

Dean winced and shifted before continuing. "Deputy Jessup hauled Sam and me in for speeding, a couple of days ago. It turned into a lot more than a simple fine. He's a dangerous zealot, Maggie. He decided we were homosexual just because we were two single guys traveling together, and I couldn't prove otherwise because I couldn't tell him who we were or what we were doing, or we'd blow our cover. Well, the sonofabitch has a bizarre and brutal hatred of gays, and because of that, he did this to me. He beat me with his damned baton until I "repented" for my sins, and then he cracked a couple ribs for a final reminder. And he forced my brother to watch."

"oh...Dean!", she murmured, her eyes welling.

He hated having to say the rest, but he had to. "It was pretty damned clear he'd done this before...he had his little speech well practiced, and he wasn't angry or upset. He was just smiling weirdly, totally calm. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was so sure that it was right. Maggie...I think Daniel went to the sheriff's office that morning. I think he met with Jessup." He could see the horror dawning on her face, but he had to tell her. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but I think Jessup may have killed him."

"No...no!" she moaned, shaking her head and dissolving into tears. Dean enfolded her in his arms, holding her for a long time until her sobbing quieted. She was almost calm again when she was suddenly struck by a terrible thought. "That bastard was supposed to help Danny. He went there because _I_ convinced him to! Oh my god, if it hadn't been for me, he'd still be here! I sent him right into the lion's den!"

He knew how she felt. "You didn't know, Maggie! What you did was the right thing under normal circumstances. It's not your fault!"

She was silent for a while, battling to come to terms with it all. She wiped her eyes, remembering that poor Danny wasn't the deputy's only victim. "What about you? Will you be ok? Oh, Dean, your back...I can't believe you're even walking around like this!"

He snorted. "Yeah, well...I'd rather sleep for a freaking week, but I don't have much choice. There's more, Maggie. My brother, Sam, he's disappeared."

"Your brother is missing?"

Dean nodded.

"Oh, no! Oh... What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. Go up to that damn camp first, I guess. That's where he was last."

Maggie sat back in silence. The results of Dean's terrible beating blended in her mind with the memory of her distraught brother the night he was attacked at the camp. She shuddered, and shook her head to rid her mind of it.

"Maggie...are you gonna be alright?"

She sighed. "Yes. No. Dean...if Danny was treated the same way as you were, well he was just a skinny kid, you know? He was fit and healthy, but he had no real stamina, and he took medication for arrhythmia. Oh god! If he suffered what you went through, it surely would have killed him!"

Dean didn't know what to say. He wasn't in any state to soften this, in fact, his current state screamed that she was right. He was tired, and consumed by worry for Sam. And he hurt terribly. He had to be sharp, so the meds he'd been prescribed were out of the question. He still hadn't found them, anyway. A thought struck him. Maggie had said Dan had arrhythmia, a heart problem. The connection was glaring, the victims' hearts had stopped. And the ghosted bruises...it all added up to a perfect poetic justice. He didn't know if he should try to discuss this with her or not. He was grateful for her support at the moment and he didn't want her to reject him as some kind of delusional lunatic. He stared without focus at the carpet for several minutes, acutely aware of how much the walk had wiped him out.

Maggie got up. "I need some tea….I'll be back in a minute." She needed to collect herself. She cried silently while filling the kettle, and had got a grip by the time she had the tray ready to carry back in. She placed it on the coffee table and was about to ask how he took his, when she realized he was asleep. She watched him with sadness. He looked worn out, curled up against the arm of the couch. It brought fresh tears to her eyes. She knew now that her Danny was lost to her forever. Dean was just beginning that nightmare.


	8. Chapter 8

Many thanks to all you readers, for following my little creative outlet, and thanks especially for your comments. I don't know how to acknowledge them on an individual basis on this site without personal messaging someone, and I think that sort of one-on-one contact makes some a little skittish, lol.

* * *

><p>Part 8<p>

A half hour later he awoke, startled. He was lying on Maggie's couch with a blanket over him, and for a moment he had no idea why.

"Shhh...it's alright, Dean," she soothed, stroking his hair until the disorientation was replaced by clarity.

He sat up with a groan. "What time is it?"

" Around 6:15. Dean, let me drive you to the hospital please...at least to get something for the pain. And don't tell me it's nothing, I can see it in your face. And all that bruising...it's not normal!"

He shook his head. "Sam already got me to a doctor. I have something for it, but I have to be able to think, and they put me right out. But I could use some Tylenol or something if you have it." It amounted to putting out a forest fire with a squirt gun, but at least Maggie would feel better.

She retrieved some and gave them to him.

He swallowed them and turned to her anxiously, "Maggie, I need your help. I really need a drive to that camp. Sam has my car. I have to go and look for him, and I've already waited way too long."

"Whatever you need, Dean." she said without hesitation.

A short while later they were on the road. As they drove, she admonished him, "Dean, you should have called me sooner, when you were hurt. For god's sake, you both could have stayed at my place instead of that rat-hole you're renting!"

"I know, but I was pretty drugged-up for the first little while, and Sam didn't know about us. And later, I did try Harry's, about a dozen times. It was always busy."

"Oh." -_Shit_—she thought— Bill was always putting the phone back in its cradle crooked. It was a tricky model, if it wasn't put back perfectly straight, the button would depress, and everyone would get that damned busy signal until someone noticed and fixed it. This wasn't the first time it had happened. "Dean...are you prepared, for everything? What if this comes to a head and someone's armed or something?"

"I have a gun."

"Oh. Really? Wow…"

"Why 'wow'? "

"I don't know...I just never slept with a guy who had a gun before."

It made him laugh a little. "Well I just have it cuz it gets me laid."

She rolled her eyes. They were close to the park, and when they turned the corner they saw the flashing lights. There were two police cruisers surrounding a car that was parked at the roadside. An ambulance was there as well, its attendants rolling a gurney without real haste into its open doors. Dean noticed the victim was fully covered. -_Fatality_— His heart froze. _Sam_…

Maggie saw his expression and read his mind. "Stay put, I'll ask what's going on."

"Don't! Jessup can't see me!"

She pulled out a crumpled cowboy hat from behind her seat and handed it to him. "Just keep your head down." She flagged down an idle paramedic and inquired.

He answered with an unprofessional candor. "Mr. Beauforte was found dead this morning. Never made it home last night, looks like some one robbed him." he said.

"How awful! Thanks for letting us know." She had no idea who that was.

Dean informed her of what he knew as they drove past. Sam had said that was the name of the camp director. He was beyond relieved that it wasn't his brother there on that gurney but his nerves were screwed tighter by this new development. Something had happened, and now the director was dead and Sam was missing.

"Jesus Maggie, we've gotta hurry!"

* * *

><p>They parked beside the Impala. No point in going to the office, they already knew there was no one in charge today. They had to locate the trail. Luckily the park was well signed, they didn't have to raise any suspicions by asking a staff member. Dean was hardly comfortable with Maggie in tow. If this turned out to be a dangerous situation he didn't want to be hampered by worry for her welfare as well as Sam's. But then there was reality...he was in poor shape and it was her brother at the center of it all. She had the right, and he needed her support. They found the trail head and stopped for a moment.<p>

"Sam was going to check this trail out, he had an idea that Danny may be buried along it somewhere."

A pained expression crossed her features but she pushed her emotions aside and nodded.

At least they had the benefit of searching in daylight, and no one was around due to the latest camp-related tragedy. As a matter of fact, the current session had been cancelled that morning and kids were being picked up by confused and disgruntled parents. No one noticed the two of them under the circumstances. They started out on the trail. It was slow going, both due to the search aspect and Dean's inability to keep up with Maggie's determined pace. It started to frustrate him, his temper was at the breaking point. He had paused for yet another breather when she came back to him.

"Dean, I heard a strange sound...I don't know, but it didn't sound like an animal."

He was leaning heavily on a tree, shaky and tired. "Where?"

She pointed. There was a slight separation of the foliage to the left. It looked like a recent path, but not well developed like the trail. Something, or some one—had parted the greenery here recently. He nodded and headed into the undergrowth. They followed a faint break, a parting or crushing of the leaves and plants. It ended in a slightly overgrown clearing. It was apparent that someone had been here recently, the broken foliage was fresh and plants had not yet sprung back from being bent and disturbed. Dean cautioned Maggie silently, and went ahead of her. He had his gun drawn.

The clearing was odd. It showed evidence of recent, as well as older activity. Dean was well versed in the evidence of burial, and like Sam he quickly deduced that there was disturbed terrain here. But he didn't have to be an expert in any field to recognize a body. He called to Maggie.

In front of him, sprawled in the ferns, lay a young man. He was clearly dead. He was in rigor, and Dean pushed his stiff frame with the tip of his shoe. The man had a revolver clutched in a literal death-grip in his right hand. His eyes were open and un-seeing, and his expression was frozen in a rictus of terror. Another counselor, maybe. Dean's attention was re-routed by Maggie's shout.

"Dean! Here!" Maggie had found a second body. He hobbled over to her position and gasped in horror, dropping to his knees.

It was Sam.

"Sam! oh god, Sammy! C'mon, please!" Dean hovered over his brother. Maggie stood back, holding her hand to her mouth in horror. It made everything involving poor Daniel a stark reality and she hardly had the ability to face this. He shook Sam gently, and then desperately, frantic at seeing the blood that had dried on his face, and matted in his hair. He held his fingers to Sam's throat, cursing and talking under his breath. There was a pulse. He was sure, he felt it—weak and rapid, but there.

"Oh god, Dean...is he-?

"Breathing.." he answered. He pulled Sam up so he could better see him, and assess his condition. He had a lot of blood on his sleeve, it seemed to have come from his shoulder. And then his face, it was covered in more blood. He had to see where it was coming from. He parted Sam's dark, sodden hair, terrified of what would be revealed. He found the place where the bullet had done its work. It was just beyond his left temple, a deep furrow plowed by the projectile. It hadn't entered his skull, it wasn't a death sentence, yet. But it obviously hit with enough impact to render him profoundly unconscious. But not dead.

Dean released his breath in relief. He quickly pulled the clothing away to reveal the other injury. Another graze, painful and bloody, but not life-threatening. As he held Sam's head in his hands, the younger man began to stir and complain.

Maggie, hovering fearfully near by, instantly came forward and crouched beside him. She met Dean's shining eyes. His brother was _alive_. It was Daniel's tale, but this time it had a different ending.

Sam mumbled, confused, and distressed. Dean held him close, scarcely able to contain his own emotions. He spoke to him soothingly, reassuring him that all would be well. It took agonizing moments for lucidity to return, but it did finally. Sam struggled, wide eyed and fearful. He still felt the immediate danger, unaware that the threat was gone. Dean patiently calmed him, assuring him that they were safe. His expression relaxed with his understanding._ Dean was there. Big brother was fixing it all. _He'd lost an alarming amount of blood and he was shaking with cold. Maggie tugged at Dean's sleeve.

"We need to get him out of here, to a hospital. Can you get him up? Do you think we can carry him?"

Dean nodded. He'd carry him out if he had to crawl the whole goddamn way.

The two of them pulled the tall young man to his knees. He still bore no weight, he was a heavy, limp burden...but supported between them, they managed to get him back out to the main trail before Dean dropped. They rested for several moments, while Dean caught his breath, and when he felt he could shoulder Sam's weight again he hoisted him up and they made several more yards before the pain made him stumble and drop to his knees once more. The pattern repeated until they reached the car.

Sam had begun to partially carry his own weight, albeit with a shaky inconsistency. Both he and Dean rested heavily against the Impala's side as Maggie fished the spare keys from Dean's jacket. Sam looked over at his panting brother. Dean caught his eye and smiled wryly. "I call back seat…" Sam said, his legs buckling. He slid to the pavement as Dean tried to catch him. The result was a tangled heap of Winchester that Maggie had to sort out and drag into the car.

* * *

><p>Regardless of how he felt, Dean had insisted on taking the wheel. Maggie was worried he was too weak. "Are you sure you can drive? You're not going to pass out behind the wheel, are you?"<p>

"I'm fine, Maggie." he growled predictably. She accepted that, she had a sense that she had no choice. She sighed and told him to follow her truck to the hospital. Sam drifted in and out. Dean glanced frequently at him with worry. Neither wound was life-threatening, but between them they'd bled profusely and his extreme paleness attested to that. He was lucky he hadn't bled out. As for Dean himself; the drive was a struggle. He was in a sweat, trying hard to avoid leaning back on the seat. Every time he hit a rough patch in the road he grimaced and swore.

"Hey, potty-mouth, you ok?" asked Sam.

Dean looked up into the rearview and smiled a little. "Yeah, sure…just a freaking rough road. Bad for the shocks."

Sam closed his eyes again. _-the shocks_- Even now Dean would never admit to any hurt in front of him. "Hey Dean…?"

"Yeah..?"

"Do we really have to go to the hospital? Can't you just stitch me up?"

"Not this time Sammy. You need blood. Besides, I wanna see them shave your head."

Sam groaned. He hoped they wouldn't have to. He looked down to see if the camera was still ok. "Dean...I may have that guy's whole confession, on the new camera. I switched it on, and got him to talk. He's one of the bad counselors. He named Jessup." Sam was weakening, his voice was trailing off.

"Are you serious? Holy shit, that's huge! Way to go, Sam! Now shut-up 'til I get you checked out. We can talk about it later."

Sam was nearly out again. "Ok. ..Dean?"

"Hey, didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

"Thanks for finding me." he whispered, drifting off.

* * *

><p>Once safely in the hospital environs, and with his fluid levels being replenished, Sam was eager to discuss the situation with Dean. He battled a wicked headache and he was being monitored for his concussion. Regardless, he wanted to review the recording from the camera.<p>

Maggie had introduced herself, and Sam had kindly offered her his condolences.

She accepted graciously, asking, "So...it's true then. Daniel is buried by the trail?"

"Yeah...I'm afraid so. The evidence is there." He stayed quiet as she absorbed that. Her emotions threatened her briefly but she clamped down on them and maintained her composure. Sam was impressed by her strength. "Uh...where's Dean?" he asked.

"Asleep on a chair in the lounge. He's pretty wiped out. I don't know how he keeps going, he told me what Jessup did. I saw the bruises."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, that's my brother. Nobody can run longer on pure adrenalin than he can. Stubborn jackass."

She laughed at the last assessment.

He turned back to the unpleasant tasks at hand. "Maggie, we have to talk to the sheriff asap. Do you know anything about him?"

"Other than the fact that he's well-liked here, nothing much. But I've never heard anything bad about him."

"We need to call him before the hospital does. Any gun wounds are reported, and the last thing we need is to have Jessup come out. Damn, I really need to talk to Dean...do you think you could wake him?"

She nodded. She was reluctant but she knew it was important. Dean would have to recover later, he was in the thick of things now and it couldn't wait on his well-being. Not that sleeping in one of those hard chairs was doing him much good. She left to fetch him.

She stood and watched him for a moment. He couldn't be comfortable, draped over the uncompromisingly hard and thin chair arm. She marveled that he could sleep like that at all. It warmed her, the thought of his love and loyalty for his brother. She'd have done anything for Daniel. "Hey...wake up, sweetie. C'mon, Dean, I'll get you a nice hot coffee."

He frowned but didn't move.

"Dean, honey...wake up. Sam needs to talk to you."

The mention of his brother's name snapped him awake. He winced and groaned, stiff from his nap. He stretched a little, regretted it, and tried to shake some life back into his arm, which had fallen asleep.

She had tried to get him to be seen by a doctor earlier but he'd refused, insisting, again, that he was fine. Clearly he was not, but she had to let him deal with it his own way. She guessed he'd resent any mothering. "Come talk to your brother...he's anxious to get the sheriff involved."

He rubbed his eyes and nodded, following her in.

* * *

><p>"You look like crap!" they said to each other in unison. Maggie laughed along with them, agreeing. Dean pulled up a chair and perched on the edge. "How you feeling, Sam?"<p>

"Like I've been target practice. Did you check the video?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Uh huh...picture sucks but the audio is perfect. Clear as a bell, nice work."

"Good. We have to get ahold of this McClary. When I talked to the camp director, Mr. Beauforte, about all this last night, he said he didn't know him that well, but that his reputation spoke well of him. He made a point of saying it was his actions that showed it, not his words. And I trust Beauforte, he's a good guy."

Dean caught Maggie's eye. "_Was_ a good guy. I hate to tell you, Sam...but somebody wasted him last night in his car."

Sam was stunned. "Christ! Somebody must have listened in when he and I were talking! That's why he followed me out to the trail. ..I can't believe it!"

"Who, Sam? Who was it?"

"The one named Randy! He's a counselor, the second to the head guy, Jeff. I turned around after finding Dan's burial, and he was right there behind me."

Dean frowned. "Well, we need to get this camera to the sheriff before Jessup gets wind of it. Maggie, could you go out there, maybe see if he's in? I don't want to call and get that sonofabitch deputy instead."

She nodded and hurried away, saying she'd call when she had him in tow.

"Now what, Dean?" Sam demanded.

"Gimme a minute, I'm too freaking tired to think."

He rested his crossed arms on Sam's bed, putting his head down on them for a moment.

"Seriously, Dean...are you ok?"

"Getting there." He sighed and sat up. "We're gonna have to take our chances with this guy and lay it all out to him. I'm thinking we should set up a meet with Jessup...lure him out to the gravesite. I'd just say that I knew about Daniel, and tell him to come out. He'd put another nail in his own coffin by showing that he knows where that is and what I was talking about. I'd have to wear a wire. I don't want to rely on that audio clip you got...it'll be enough to get the sheriff on board, but he'll need more to nail him. McClary needs to see and hear it from Jessup's own mouth…agreed?"

Sam nodded. "There's enough cover there...the sheriff could be hidden nearby, waiting for his cue. But Dean, what about Daniel's spirit? I saw it take Randy down. It will go after Jessup for sure, shut his heart down like the others.. To be honest, I'd be fine with that, but I'd rather see him fry or rot in jail. And what about all that?McClary will witness the vengeful spirit thing, and won't know what the hell to make of it. Do we tell him what this is really about?"

"Maybe…sorta... Christ, I don't know. I have the same dilemma with Maggie. How's she gonna take it—knowing her brother's now some freaky killer ghost? And then I have to tell her that he has to be salted and burned after they exhume him and do an autopsy, or he'll keep on being a threat. Yeah, that'll go over well…"

"We could tell McClary to have a defibrillator ready, they're all trained to use one. He'll think we're nuts, but when he has to use it on Jessup we'll have a lot more credibility."

"Hmm...yeah. Let Danny have his fun with the bastard, then revive him to face the consequences. I like that, everybody wins."

Dean checked his phone, which didn't work in the hospital. It registered a missed call. "I think we're on. I'm going outside to hear the message. Back in five minutes."

* * *

><p>Dean checked and was relieved that Maggie was indeed bringing the sheriff back. He was very nervous...his natural inclination was to run from the law, not invite it in for a chat. He returned to Sam's bedside. "When can you get out of here?"<p>

"They won't let me go for at least 24 hours because of the concussion. I feel ok...I mean, I have a killer headache, but everything else is manageable."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. How'd you talk your way out of a bean-shave, by the way?"

Sam grinned. "Bribery."

"Guess you offered more than I did to make sure you got one. I'll have to make it a richer deal next time, won't I?"

Sam smiled and flipped him the bird.

Maggie entered with a stranger. She introduced him as Sheriff McClary. The brothers eyed him warily. They were at considerable risk in his presence. He greeted them in a deep, even tone. He spoke quietly, with a sure authority. "Now...what's this all about, gentlemen? Miss Williams insisted I meet with you, and that my deputy not be involved or informed. This is highly irregular. I hope you aren't wasting my time here."

Dean handed him the camera. "For starters, sheriff, have a look at this. The video is bad but the audio is perfect."

They all sat, tense and silent, as the sheriff ran through the clip. He ran it two more times before he spoke. He rubbed his chin, frowning, deep in thought. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Ok people...let's start at the beginning."

Dean started. "Before I do, there are aspects to this that you are going to have a hard time believing. You need to keep an open mind here. We're not nut-cases, ok? The evidence is there to prove what I'm about to tell you. And Maggie, you'd better grab a chair. I really wanted to talk to you about this earlier, but there's no time to ease into it now."

She did, and she wore the same baffled and wary expression that showed on McClary's face.

Dean looked to Sam, who nodded. "Alright." Dean said. He handed the autopsy reports to the lawman. "My brother and I...we investigate unusual occurrences. We came here to look into the circumstances of the counselor deaths at Saving Word camp. Along the way we learned of Daniel William's disappearance. I started out by getting these autopsy reports on the two victims. Sheriff, I'm not sure you've seen the unusual marks on their backs, they're only visible under UV. They look like bruises, but technically they aren't. And they both died from heart failure. The coroner said there's no way to explain their deaths through natural means. So we've gotta look into the unnatural. That's what we specialize in. We believe the deaths were caused by ...and here's where you have to stay open minded, a vengeful spirit. We've come across this many times. The spirit of some one who was wronged so terribly that they carry the need for revenge beyond death. How are we doing so far?"

"You are nuts." Maggie said. " But I'm still listening."

McClary had crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, a classic closed posture. "You boys called me here to tell me fairy-tales?"

Sam intervened. "Sir, we know how this sounds. We always get this reaction at first. But please hear us out, there's more to prove it."

The sheriff uncrossed his arms and set his hands on his knees. "Ok...keep going."

Dean continued. "We learned that Daniel disappeared a month earlier. We also learned that he was a good kid, and that he was gay, and because of that he was beat up and run out by the other counselors at the camp when they found out. He went to press charges next morning, but you were out, Sheriff. So he met with Jessup instead. We also found out that Jessup is a homophobic vigilante. We believe he beat Daniel for his so called _sin_, using his night stick. Maybe not bad enough to kill him, but Daniel had a heart condition, and he died as a result."

That was too much for the sheriff to let slip by. "Now back it up right there, son! Deputy Jessup is a respected lawman! How the hell do you know anything about his beliefs and actions on that subject?"

"Well sir...I know it first hand. Before I go on, I want you to remember that audio you just heard. And the autopsy reports describing those strange bruise-like marks." Dean 's voice was weakening, he was dizzy, and he sought a chair and lowered himself gingerly on to it. He rubbed his eyes wearily. Maggie poured a cup of cool water for him, and he continued. "Sam and I were pulled over by Deputy Jessup a few days ago. It was my fault, I was speeding. He took one look at us and decided we were a gay couple. There was no logic, he just made up his mind. And it seems he's got a big problem with that. He hauled us in and put us in holding. Well, I guess I kinda provoked him...sometimes I don't know when to keep my mouth shut, and I'm not very, uh...patient when it comes to stupidity. The bottom line is, he handcuffed me to the bars, Sheriff...my brother too. Then he made Sam witness and "learn" while he beat the crap out of me with his baton until I gave out and finally "repented for my sins" Those were his words. He was damned thorough, at that point I was pretty much done in, I was ready to admit to anything to get him to stop. But he decided to break a couple of my ribs for good measure. And when it was over, he just let us go. ...Like we'd paid our debt to society, or god, or him, you know? Sam here had to carry me out to the car and we got the hell out of there. He tailed us all the way to the Mississippi border."

McClary shook his head in disbelief. He had trusted Jessup implicitly. If it hadn't been for that audio, he would never have believed a word of it. But he _had_ heard the clip and he had no choice but to hear these people out.

Dean continued. "You want more proof...I understand that, sir. So keep in mind Daniel Williams, and those ghosted marks on the two victims when you see _this_." He got to his feet slowly and stood He turned around and unbuttoned his shirt, then shrugged it off and let it drop to his waist. It embarrassed him deeply but it was necessary. He knew how bad it looked...it was pretty compelling evidence.

"Sweet Jesus!" The sheriff blurted. He stared in silent horror for a few moments. "_My_ deputy did this to you?"

"Yes sir, he did." Dean said quietly, pulling up and re-buttoning his shirt.

Maggie's composure crumbled, she covered her face and cried._ Poor Dean...and poor, poor Daniel_…

McClary was shocked to his core. "Have...have you gotten medical attention?"

Dean nodded. "In Mississippi, right over the border on Hwy 9. The clinic we went to has seen this before. The Doc there even had a name for it, she called it the Bethel County Welcome. She'd be more than happy to provide testimony, I'd bet on it."

Sheriff McClary had it all laid out in front of him. He had the evidence, digital, anecdotal and physical. He had witnesses. And victims, both living and dead. He had potential testimony. There was very little left that he needed. And he hated it all. But he was a fair man, worthy of his position. The ugliness of this was painful, but he was not a man who fled from such things. He was a Sheriff. "Alright. I agree we have a major problem here...it's pretty damned clear my deputy is out of control. Now tell me more."

Dean took a deep breath. It was going to be tricky from now on. "We know that Daniel Williams is buried in a clearing by the trail. Sam found the place using an electro-magnetic field detector. Spirits , or ghosts if you want...can generate that kind of energy. The physical evidence of a burial is there. Sam had discussed the problem counselors with the camp director, Mr. Beauforte. Well, it seems someone overheard that discussion. Beauforte's dead, and Randy Jarvis followed Sam out to the site. He confronted him and discussed his and Jessup's involvement in Dan William's death. And then he shot him and left him for dead. You already know about the audio Sam recorded before he was hit. Well, Randy Jarvis had his heart stopped. He's lying dead in that clearing right now. He saw Daniel William's spirit, you heard his voice on that recording. He was terrified. Sir, I'd bet my life that his body will show the same ghosted marks as the others, and that his heart had stopped for no natural reason." Dean faltered then, and took a moment to regain his flagging strength. "We believe Daniel Williams was beaten, just like I was. And he had a heart condition that caused his heart to stopp as a result. And now, he's passing on those markers to his victims...and those victims are far from innocent. It's classic vengeance."

Maggie couldn't take it. It was too horrible, too bizarre. "No! No, stop it, Dean! You don't know! Daniel was sweet, caring...he would never become this...this_ thing_!" She fled the room.

Dean wanted to follow her, to comfort her, but he had to keep McClary from rejecting what he'd just heard. "Please Sheriff, stay with us on this. We need to get Jessup to dig his own hole here. You heard his accomplice admit to Dan William's death and burial on that tape. And you know my own experience with him. Let's forget the twilight zone aspect for a minute. If we get Jessup to come out to the gravesite, to meet with me...we can nail him for good, and this crap can all end. I'll wear a wire, you can lay low nearby amnd you can hear it all for yourself. Sheriff, I'll take that risk if you'll work with us on this."

Sheriff McClary stared hard, then nodded. He was hardly ready to acknowledge the supernatural aspect of the situation, but he had his hands full enough with the rest of it at the moment. "Ok. I will ignore the insanity of this right now. You have enough going on here to warrant investigation, so I'll go along with a set-up at the trail. But I don't want to hear about your ghosts right now, you hear? I just want to fix this cancer in my department. You say you're willing to wear a wire? You'll be in danger...he'll be armed. Are you up to that right now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I want to see justice done for this kid. And I wouldn't mind seeing your deputy pay for what he did to me and who knows how many others. Set it up—I'm in."

McClary nodded. "I'll need to arrange some logistics. I'll let you know when to make the call."

Dean agreed. "I have one request, sir. I agree to your demand that the whole _vengeful spirit_ thing will be ignored for now. But bring your defib-kit. I guarantee you it will be needed. If you're trained on it, good. If not—bring a paramedic. Do that, and we won't say anymore about any other dimension to this case."

McClary agreed. Why not? It was a normal safety precaution he could accept. "I'll set it up on my end. Wait for my call. Don't do anything until I tell you to!"

They all wanted the same thing, justice. Dean accepted the directive and the wait for count-down began.


	9. Chapter 9

McClary left, leaving the brothers to contemplate the next few hours.

"I've gotta find Maggie." Dean said. He was tiring. He needed to sleep before the shit hit the fan, but Maggie needed his support right now, whether she realized it or not.

Sam had to stay put as well. He was starting to feel the reality of his own condition. "Dean, if you need me, you know...to back you up in convincing her—"

Dean nodded and left.

She was in the lounge, sitting cross-legged in one of those miserable chairs. He dropped heavily into the one beside her. ''Maggie...please hear me out. I know Daniel was a good person. This thing that's happening...it's not his fault. It doesn't make him a monster...he's just really hurting and angry. Christ, I know how f—ked up this sounds...but I can help him find the peace he deserves. We can't bring him back, but we can release him from his anguish."

She refused to look at him, but fresh tears slid down her cheeks and she shook with the effort of her composure. "That's not my Danny."

"You're right, it's not. He never would have done anything violent in life. But his life was stolen from him, Maggie...and the circumstances were so unjust, so wrong...that he can't get past it. Can you understand that?"

She was silent for a few moments. "You...you think you can help him? _God,_ this is so unreal, I can't believe I'm even talking about it. But what you said, and the way those others are dying…..and what happened to him...it actually makes a sick kind of sense. I must be losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind, Maggie. This is a pretty hard concept for normal people. Me and Sam, we see this sort of thing, and a hell of a lot worse, all the time. We look for it, try to fix it. My Dad started, when my mom was taken by something evil. He taught us, he brought us into this. So yeah...we can help Daniel. We know how. Maggie...you just have to let go of what you think is real, and open yourself to the idea that there are other aspects, other sides, to reality. Can you do that?"

She looked down for several minutes, finally meeting his eyes and nodding. "I guess so.. But please, Dean...help him. Make him find his peace." Her composure crumbled completely and he held her until her sobbing subsided.

"Trust me, ok…?"

She decided that did.

* * *

><p>Sam took the opportunity to sleep while they waited for their cue. Dean went back with Maggie for the same reason. She wouldn't let him return to the fleabag. She finally got him a decent meal, as the last nourishment he had was that chocolate bar and he was really running on fumes. She'd have loved to forget the world for a while under his touch, but he was so exhausted that he found his place on the arm of the couch again, and she didn't have the heart to wake him. She draped a blanket over him and lay down on her bed alone.<p>

At four o'clock, both were shocked awake by the call. Maggie was first to regain her clarity and she handed the phone to Dean. It was McClary. He was prepared to go ahead with the sting. He instructed Dean to come out to the camp and meet in the parking lot. From there he would call Jessup and convince him to meet at the clearing, or rather, at the un-specified burial site. He was to identify himself as the guy who 'repented' two days before. And to say that he knew about Dan Williams. _That oughta be enough to pull him out of his snake-hole_— Dean mused.

Dean agreed and prepared to meet McClary asap. Jeff Reigert would be taken into custody and Dean would be fitted with his wire. Sounded simple enough.

"Show-time, Maggie." he said.

She could see the tension in his features. "Dean...are you, I mean...well, are you strong enough for this?"

It was the second time he'd heard that particular phrase. He didn't appreciate it any more this time around. He was reminded that he had yet to take his brother to task about that earlier, humiliating exchange with Jessup, before he laid into Dean..That alone was worth an ass-kicking. He kissed her forehead. "I'll be fine."

She really wanted to go with him. The thought of maybe seeing her Danny, even in this strange way, was terribly compelling. But McClary wouldn't have it, the risk was too great. Jessup was an armed and skilled adversary. They could not justify endangering any one else.

"I'll call you, I promise." Dean said, as he left.

She would keep a tense vigil by the phone for the rest of the evening.

* * *

><p>Dean stopped by the hospital briefly on the way. Sam was nervously expecting him and it was a pain in the ass that cells didn't work in the building. Dean discussed the plan with him, reiterating his assertion that he'd be fine, and he'd call when it was over. He didn't kiss him.<p>

Back on the road, he went over the scenario as it should play out. He had his gun in his belt, but since this time he was working hand in hand with the authorities he was reluctant to reveal it or use it. He didn't need to complicate his own precarious situation by being scrutinized for having an illegal weapon. But then again, dead was worse. Better safe than sorry. He wished he was in better shape. Jessup was quick, surprisingly so. He'd already found that out the hard way twice, and Dean himself was stiff, slow and sore. Kind of a lousy match. He was uncharacteristically dreading the whole thing.

Pulling into the camp parking lot, he was reminded that the pop-can car was still there. He thought he'detter get it back soon. He saw the group of unmarked cars. It didn't help his state of mind, he had to keep reminding himself that they were on his side this time. The urge to floor it in the opposite direction was so powerful he had to force himself to keep his foot off the gas. He pulled up beside McClary just as two other policemen emerged from the office with a bitter looking Jeff Reigert handcuffed between them. Dean glanced at him and smiled grimly. He and the sheriff left their cars and headed to the office.

"You still ok to do this?" McClary demanded.

Dean assured him that he was. He was fitted with his recording device, they tested it successfully, and he and the sheriff went over the fine points of the operation. The sheriff already had things set up by the clearing. Sam had directed him to its location. They'd identified the grave location and retrieved Randy's body earlier.

"Defibrillator?" Dean asked.

The sheriff nodded with some irritation. He had agreed to that but he still felt it was a waste of time to lug it there. "Ready to make that call, son?"

Dean dialed in answer. His conversation with Jessup was brief. He agreed to meet him where Daniel Williams body was hidden. No location was discussed, that was the first coup. The bastard had already implicated himself.

McClary and his chosen men left to take up their positions. Dean was left alone beside Danny's grave. He paced and fidgeted, nervously scanning for Jessup's arrival. He tried to stretch a little, hoping to gain a bit of flexibility, but it only resulted in awakening the aches he'd been steadfastly ignoring. He wanted to have a quiet conversation with the occupant of the grave, but with the wire he was reluctant to come across as a bloody lunatic.

The wait was driving him nuts. He sighed with impatience. His back hurt, he wished there was something to sit on. A rustling, a crunching of forest litter, snapped him to attention. The leafy undergrowth was pushed aside and Jessup entered the clearing. He was alone. "So it _is_ you." he sneered. "What, you didn't get enough last time?"

Dean kept the dialogue good and clear. "You mean when you beat the crap out of me in the cell the other day? Well, I decided to forgive you for that."

Jessup came forward and stood uncomfortably close to Dean. His hands were free, hovering over his holster and club. "Well...thanks so much. I can't tell you what that means to me. And to what do I owe your generosity?"

Dean smiled without humour. "I figure you might wanna show how grateful you are that I don't turn you in for murdering Daniel Williams. That's him in that hole behind me, isn't it?"

Jessup's eyes hardened, but he kept his easy expression. "Well, I don't know what you're talking about, queer-boy." He reached down casually and picked up a handful of small stones. He examined one as if it held his interest, and suddenly flicked it at Dean.

Dean flinched, unable to hide the quick pain the motion caused.

"Still hurting, are we?" Jessup asked with a smile. He threw another stone, with the same result. "You shouldn't be out here. Shoulda stayed in bed with your boyfriend."

He pegged Dean with a third stone. It was distracting, irritating...Dean was forced into revealing his weakness and he couldn't stop it.

"Quit doing that!" Dean growled. "I have Randy Jarvis's confession recorded, so don't piss me off!"

That stopped the deputy cold. "What are you talking about?"

"Your little protégé spilled his guts to my buddy. Got it all on digital. He told him about how they beat up Williams, and how you finished that job. And how he died at your hands because of it. Why do you think we're standing here now? Randy Jarvis told him exactly where his body was."

The nonchalant attitude evaporated. "Bullshit. Prove it!"

"I don't have to prove it. The fact that we're standing here talking about it is proof. And I want compensation for what you did to me. You remember...you said I was convicted of deviance, of blasphemy, and that you were gonna make me _atone_ for it. You cuffed me to the cell bars and beat the shit out of me. You owe me, and I want payment."

Jessup wasn't smiling anymore. "Guess I stopped a little short then, didn't I? I shoulda finished what I started. You don't sound very repentant to me. You know, that Williams kid repented all the way to hell."

Dean sneered. "Well, you may have put poor weak Danny into his grave, but I'm still here. So what's my silence worth to you? What are you gonna do for _me_?"

Jessup eyed him sourly. "What am I gonna do for you? Well...how about this?"

Jessup threw his last stone at Dean. It caught him off guard and again he flinched, and he couldn't react fast enough as the deputy drew his gun with lightning speed and fired.

Dean stumbled in his haste to get out of the cross-hairs. He felt the bullet tear through his forearm as he landed heavily in the leafy undergrowth. The impact crunched his injured ribs, leaving him breathless and momentarily fighting off a roaring blackness. Clutching his arm to his chest, he rolled onto his side, desperate to clear his mind of the pain so that he could react to what was unfolding.

"FREEZE!" he heard. "Drop the gun and get your hands up!"

Dean stayed still as Jessup swore but kept his weapon trained on him. "Don't make me shoot him again, McClary! You come any closer and I will!" Jessup moved forward slowly and grabbed Dean by the collar, hauling him to his knees and pressing his gun to his temple. Dean struggled against his hold, and tried to kick the big man's feet out from under him, but Jessup growled and tightened his grip on the shirt, pressing the gun harder against his head. "Stay still or I'll blow your goddamned head off!" he growled.

Jessup knew he was done. The only avenue he had open to him now was to use Dean as a hostage and flee. McClary and his men had weapons trained on the deputy, but they dared not take the risk while that well-trained hand held a gun to his victim. Jessup dragged Dean to his feet and backed away. His gun was unwavering in his hand. No one, especially Dean, dared to make a move.

The stand-off would have continued for many more tense minutes, but something strange happened. A mist...thin and cold, had begun to gather between the two sides. McClary saw it but it didn't register. Dean saw it and he understood.

But for Jessup's eyes, it took form. Daniel Williams, or some terrible incarnation of him, materialized in front of the deputy. Dean felt the grip loosen momentarily.

"No! No, this isn't possible!" Jessup mumbled, his voice rising to a higher pitch with his increasing panic. "I saw you die! I put you in the ground, goddamn it!"

Daniel didn't reply. He moved silently closer to his adversary.

Jessup's heart was racing. He turned the gun toward the apparition and screamed, as Dean twisted away from him and rolled free. Jessup was whimpering now, clutching his chest as his heart began to beat erratically. He frantically tried to push away the phantom hand that reached toward him, as the others looked on in confused alarm. The gun dropped from his nerveless hand and he fell to his knees, mere seconds away from the threat of being drilled through by the bullets of the tense lawmen watching the scene.

"Get away from me!" he choked out. It would be his last words before keeling over and convulsing as his heart was stilled. Daniel's mist dissipated

A shocked McClary snapped to action, grabbing the defibrillator and racing to the fallen man. Another policeman pulled Dean safely away as the sheriff worked feverishly to restore a pulse to the undeserving deputy. He was successful. His heart resumed its normal healthy pace. The devil was cheated, and for now, the hell awaiting him would be a federal prison. Jessup sat up, shocked and fearful. He started babbling to anyone near, _did they see it? —the spirit that had tried to take him?-_ He was sure that his god had saved him from that evil.

McClary and another policeman carried the deluded deputy by his arms and feet a short distance, until his bruised dignity couldn't stand it anymore, and he preferred himself to be cuffed so that he could save his pride and walk shakily out under his own power. He felt it more befitting of a man of his character. He paused in front of Dean, who sat hunched under a blanket as someone tended to his bloodied arm.

"You'll go to hell for this, boy, you and all the other sinners! I have the will of God on my side!

"You think so?" Dean growled. He hauled himself to his feet, throwing the blanket aside in fury. "Well, you'll see a judgment day long before I ever will! …And by the way—" Dean drew his good arm back and punched Jessup full in the face. He stood over him where he sat stunned in the dirt. "You are convicted of being an asshole!"

The officers standing nearby probably should have intervened. But none did. A sputtering and bleeding Jessup was led away as Dean felt firm but gentle hands force him back down to have his first aid completed. The paramedic smirked, but he barked at Dean to sit still.

Dean watched as he wiped the remaining blood away and cleaned and bandaged the wound. _Not too bad_- he thought. Hurt like a bitch, though. Most of the damage was across the surface, the bullet only entered at the end of the graze, travelling under the skin for just an inch before exiting again. He guessed eight stitches, tops...not counting those he'd have to use to fix his shirt. The medic attempted to check his back when he had finished with the bandaging, but Dean knocked his hand away. He was impatient to leave this place.

The man sighed with exasperation. "Look, if you want me to let you drive your car to the hospital, I have to at least check you out, alright? It's my ass on the line here if you pass out and drive into a tree, and I can just as easily insist that you go in the ambulance, pal. That's right-lights, sirens, the works. A real spectacle…"

"Fine!" Dean snapped. He undid his shirt and let him see.

The medic removed the bandage and checked him over. "Looks ok. Well, not worse, anyway. You'll need another wrap for those ribs. Do you want me to do that now?"

Dean shrugged. He was tapping his foot with agitation. "Whatever you think, just hurry up, will you?"

Several of the officers had glanced over. They already knew the story, but it was never a comfortable thing to have to arrest one of their own. Seeing the evidence now of Jessup's sick personal crusade marked so brutally on this man, they were assured beyond doubt that this was justice.

As soon as he was treated, Dean made a bee-line for the Impala. Once inside that sanctuary, he sat in exhaustion, with his right arm and head resting against the steering wheel. He closed his eyes to settle himself. He needed a drink. He needed a _lot_ of them. His body was screaming protests that he was beaten, tired, and now bleeding. He just wanted a twenty-sixer of bourbon and a bed.

He was startled out of his state by the passenger door opening. Sheriff McClary sat down beside him and closed the door. "How are you doing? he asked.

"Just a nick, it's nothing." Dean answered nervously.

"And the other injuries?"

"I'll be fine, Sheriff."

McClary nodded. "Good." He sighed then, and paused before speaking further. "Dean, I want to apologize on behalf of this county. Your experience with my deputy was pretty damn brutal. But I have to say, I'm also kinda glad it happened, because it exposed this cancer in my office. I really had no idea, and I should have. Jessup came across as a good, reliable lawman. When I was asked to teach the course at the college, I knew it would take me away from my duties, but I really thought he was a good fit." He shook his head ruefully, and sighed. "Christ. I've got a real deep mess on my hands. Gonna take a while to sort it out. Daniel Williams...you...and who knows what the hell else Jessup was up to."

Dean would have appreciated the sheriff's words under different circumstances, but his tension was growing by the minute. He felt the sheriff was leading up to something and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what was coming.

The Sheriff continued. "You sure called that need for that defib kit, son. I thought you were nuts, going on about spirits and revenge from beyond and such. I really don't know what the hell happened here today. But regardless of my ignorance. you knew it was coming. You knew it was gonna play out like those other deaths. I'm finding it hard to write you off as delusional under the circumstances…" The sheriff paused, rubbed a hand over his brow and continued. "But if I bring the whole damned _supernatural_ angle into this investigation, internal affairs is gonna seriously think I've lost it. And I really don't want to jeopardize our case against Jessup. I'm pretty much knee-deep in shit here."

Dean was starting to feel a little nauseous. He wished McClary would finish his little discussion and let him leave. Like _now_.

"Son...you can see, I'm sure, that the last thing I need is more complications in this case. But here's the thing…."

He'd been looking out the windshield while he'd been speaking, but he turned now and met Dean's eyes. "I know who you are, Dean Winchester. You and your brother."


	10. Chapter 10

I was going to wait til Sunday to post so that I didn't reveal my lack of a social life on a Sat night, _lol._ But hey-who am I kidding? I'm a 46 year old empty-nester. Saturdays are not what they used to be, _ lol._

* * *

><p>10<p>

Dean was stunned into silence. His mouth went dry...as dry as cotton. It was only by sheer will that he kept from having to tear the door open to puke, but he managed to keep it together. When he found his voice again he asked, "Any chance you'll listen to my side of the story?"

"That would be helpful."

Dean leaned back in the seat heavily, forgetting the very insistent reasons that he shouldn't. He grimaced and changed position again. His face was taut and pale, he wiped at the sheen of sweat on his face.

McClary felt for him. "Take it easy, son. Just tell me your story."

Dean was beaten and tired. He didn't have the energy or faith to be persuasive now. He was sure that all was lost, and any explanation would be wasted effort. But the thought of life as a convict terrified him, and he was compelled to try anyway. "Sheriff...you already saw what we deal with, Sam and me. Well...we hunt out these things...things that regular people want to think are, as you put it...fairytales. I know you don't want to believe it, most people don't. But there's a whole other screwed up world out there—one filled with terrible things that want to harm the living, breathing population. My brother and I look for clues to these things, and when we find them, we try to fix them, so that people are safe. You probably want to have me committed now, but remember what you saw today, and how I knew it would happen, alright?"

McClary said nothing. But he nodded after a moment.

Dean pulled his wounded arm close. It was aching and starting to soak through, and he didn't need the distraction. He sighed and launched into his story. "Sam and me...we came across a thing in St. Louis. I don't even know if I should describe what it is right now—it's pretty surreal. But it was hurting people, that girl included. It takes forms...different people, maybe even animals. Anyway, we killed it. But it died while it was disguised as me. That's why they thought I was dead. They had a body there—every bit the exact copy of my features. But that's not my DNA linking it to the murder, it belongs to that thing. It died with a silver bullet to the heart, one that I put into it. You can check that." He sighed again and tried to suppress his grimace. "But here I am...and it kind of screws everything up. I only have one brother, he's younger and he's a good kid. I never had a twin or anything like that, that thing was not connected to us in any way other than we knew it was there and we were hunting it. And I'm officially screwed, because the body we left behind did what they always do with these creatures. It spontaneously combusted. It would have burnt to nothing but a pile of ash wherever they had it stored. We didn't stick around to see that but we know from experience that it always goes that way. I'd bet my car that if you checked into it, you'd find that in the file. And without those remains, I can't ever prove that I'm not involved in what happened out there, and Sam's implicated too. So now the Feds are after me, cops...hell, everybody. _Christ_, I know how this sounds. You think I'm a freaking nut-case, and I don't know if I have the right words to convince you I'm not. But sheriff, please remember...Sam and I warned you about Daniel William's spirit. Check with the coroner. Randy Jarvis died of unexplained heart failure, just like the others. Daniel Williams lived with a heart condition, and the beating he got from Jessup probably caused his heart to quit. And all the bodies will have the same marks. They'll only show up under UV, like baton bruises, but with no outward evidence. And you know now that those marks will be found for real on Daniel Williams body...and on me."

Sheriff McClary kept an unwavering gaze on Dean. He was, after all his experience, an excellent judge of character.

Dean pressed his hand over his eyes. He felt weak, and faint...it had been a really lousy day. He swallowed and continued. "Look...you want some character references? There are other cops that know about this shit. Call Deputy Hudak in Hibbing Minnesota, or Detective Diana Ballard in Baltimore. They know us...they know what we do. They'll have their own strange fairytales to tell you, if you can get them to. The world's not as clean and simple as we'd all like. _Jesus_, Sheriff, I don't know what else to tell you."

Sheriff McClary was deeply troubled. He could see Dean was at the end of his rope now. He'd been through hell, and it was partly the sheriff's fault. The whole Daniel Williams' spirit thing...well it just defied logic. But after what he'd witnessed, and what he'd heard, he was inclined at the moment to accept this nonsense as fact…regardless of the insanity of it all. There was no natural explanation for it.

"Dean...hell, I don't know what to say to you. This day has been a strange eye-opener...and I don't know that I want to _have_ my eyes opened. Frankly, I like my simple, normal world... But back to the here and now; I need to keep this case as clean as possible. I can't involve you as a witness in court, because all this weird horseshit will come out and I'll be branded a lunatic along with you, and we may end up getting Jessup freed. I just can't have that. I put that bastard in the position to abuse, and I _have_ to make it right." He sighed with a weary shake of his head.

Dean stopped breathing, feeling as if his very life was at stake now, and he was utterly powerless.

Sheriff McClary continued. "So...as I see it, you need to get out of here...clear out, you and your brother. I've heard you, and your stories, your experiences. I don't know what to make of it all, Dean. But I know what I saw. And I can't deal with that just now, understand…?"

Dean stared at him. He was too shocked to speak.

The sheriff continued. "This is so contrary to everything I've been trained to do. You and your brother are in the system. Hell, I'd be a hero just by delivering you to the damned feds. But on the other hand...I've heard your side, and I need to keep this case straight and uncomplicated. So that's what I'm saying...I need you to just disappear for me right now. You can't be a witness, despite the truth of the matter, because you'll just screw it all up with your _supernatural_ crap."

Dean blinked in disbelief. "You...you want us to just...go?"

"Yeah. I think it's best for all of us."

Dean was reeling. It was a shock to be identified, and yet another to realize that despite this, he and Sam would remain free. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the dizziness that swept over him, but to no avail. He broke out in a cold sweat as the car interior began to spin. He fumbled blindly for the door handle in a panic, mumbled an embarrassed apology and leaned out over the gravel, retching.

Sheriff McClary exited his side, came around and helped Dean back up when it was over. "Easy, son. I'm trying to get rid of you here, not _kill_ you!"

Dean reached under the seat and found a half empty bottle of tepid water, rinsing and swallowing a little. "Sorry.." he apologized ruefully again. "Hard day_.._"

McClary motioned to the paramedic as Dean rested his head on the steering wheel, willing the nausea away. He saw the lawman gesture to them and he balked.

"No, I'll be fine in a minute…I don't need—"

"You're far from fine at this moment, son. _Christ_...your little 'nick' there is soaking through your bandage already. I can't let you drive like this. I'm sending you to hospital. You can get checked out properly this time. Don't panic...I'm not gonna change my mind and haul you in."

Dean stared for a moment, then nodded in defeat. "But I've gotta get my car back—"

"I'll drive it to the hospital." McClary stroked the sleek hood appreciatively. "I wouldn't mind seeing what this old girl can do."

Despite how lousy he felt, Dean couldn't help but snort a laugh at that. Anyone who could appreciate the nuances of a classic like the Impala had to be ok. "Give her a good run, Sheriff. Open her right up. She never gets the chance...there's always some freaking cop around the corner…"

The sheriff patted Dean's shoulder and took his keys as he was led to the waiting ambulance.

The attendant smiled in triumph. Dean growled at him. "You put that freaking siren on and I'll kick your ass!"

* * *

><p>In the hospital, a reluctant Dean was poked and prodded, stitched and medicated. They gave him a bed at the Sheriff's insistence and he fell into an exhausted sleep the minute the drugs they'd administered found their mark. His last waking thought was a moment of panic that once again he hadn't called Maggie as promised.<p>

Sheriff McClary visited Sam. After giving the younger Winchester a synopsis of the past few hours, he went on to explain the subject he'd discussed with Dean.

Sam reiterated their strange tale to the letter, adding details that further cemented the sheriff's confidence. McClary felt he had a pretty clear picture of these two. He had to file away the supernatural information for the time being. He wasn't rejecting it, but he needed to ignore it until he was ready to think about it all. He told Sam to check on his brother as he left.

Sam was awash with relief. They'd dodged a huge bullet. He didn't know how much McClary believed them, but thankfully he felt comfortable enough about them to let them go. He was so satisfied that the bastard Jessup was trapped and in custody. He wished he'd been present when Dean had decked him. But he worried about his brother, as he always did. He knew that if the sheriff hadn't insisted on sending him, Dean wouldn't have gotten the wound checked...he would have insisted that Sam stitch it later. Sam knew the cumulative effect of the last several days were harder on him than he would ever admit to.

When he saw him sleeping so peacefully in the crisp white cleanliness of the hospital bed, he felt better about it all. He sat, watching him for a little while. It occurred to him yet again that they couldn't keep this up forever. His reverie was interrupted by the quiet arrival of Maggie Williams. She was wearing her worry on her face, and her heart on her sleeve. She'd seen the parade of squad cars and ambulances along the main drag as she sat on her porch. She couldn't stand the wait any longer, and decided it was a good bet to follow them to the hospital.

"Hi, Sam…" she said tentatively.

He smiled and returned the greeting.

"Dean was going to call me, when it was over. I can see why he didn't… Is he...is he ok?" She looked over the bandaged arm, and the ever darkening bruises visible as her companion sprawled on his stomach on the bed.

"Just some stitches. Jessup winged him with a desperate shot. The sheriff made him come in and get looked at. They gave him painkillers, they'll keep him overnight and let us both go in the morning." He looked at sleeping beauty for a moment, smiling. "Good thing...he was pretty wiped out."

Maggie watched him too. "Well...good. I mean...aw _shit_!" She couldn't help it, she started to cry. It had been a very trying day. Sam put a comforting arm over her shoulders and assured her it was going to be ok. When she had regained her composure he told her gently that her brother's killer was at last in custody, and that after the necessary autopsy she would now have the opportunity to honour and bury Danny properly. She had mixed feelings about it. The last defiant shred of hope that he was still alive was quashed, but at least she had the opportunity for closure now. "Sam…did Daniel.. did he appear?"

He gazed at her in his characteristically earnest way. "He did, Maggie. Jessup was the only one there who saw him clearly. Danny stopped that bastard's heart, long enough to save Dean from being killed. The Sheriff managed to revive him, and now he'll have to face the consequences of everything he's done. Maggie, I know this is all a horrible nightmare, but your brother saved Dean's life."

Maggie absorbed that in silence. "Sam…do you think he's at peace now? I mean, his killer is caught, those others will be punished… He got justice, after all. Will he...I don't know...move on?"

Sam was glad to relieve Dean of the burden of this tricky discussion. "Maggie…I think he's on his way to being content now, but we need to do something more to ensure that. …Do you trust me?"

She was a little startled by the question. "Trust you? I...well, I trust Dean, and he thinks the world of you, Sam. So yes…"

"Good. Because this part of it is a little...unusual." Sam knew he had to tread carefully. There was a lot of emotion involved, this wasn't your average salt & burn where there were no relatives watching the process. "Maggie...with Daniel's funeral, what are you planning, burial or cremation?"

"Well I...I hadn't really thought about it. Cremation, I guess. Yeah...he would have probably thought that was less creepy." The tears threatened again, but she blinked them away.

"Good choice. I'm sure he would have agreed. Maggie...please bear with me, this is gonna sound insane. You see...there is a way to release a tortured spirit, to return them to the path they're supposed to follow. Danny, he's got his justice...but spirits are confused beings because they're caught in a place that they aren't supposed to be. They often can't let go of the emotional need for vengeance, even after they have dealt with the original wrong. We need to ensure that he moves on and no one else is in danger. The method is very basic. The remains need to be burned, which you've already chosen, and it has to happen in the presence of salt. Just ordinary salt...a basic chemical that's part of life. There has to be salt poured onto his remains, and those remains must be burned. I can't tell you the why of it, only that we have to do it for Daniel's sake, and for the safety of others. But he will rest then, I promise you."

Maggie was struck by an intense mix of emotion. She felt disgust over the process, denial that Danny could ever be a danger, and she felt a crippling sadness that her gentle little brother was never again coming home. But she also felt hope...hope that Dan would finally rest in peace after his violent exit from this world. She didn't want to know why this had to be done to his body. But the salt...well, it was a small detail to be added to an accepted burial process that she had already chosen. And yes, she trusted these brothers. She vowed to see that it was done.

Sam hugged her again. And once more she gave in to her tears.

"You're a good sister, Maggie.."

Knowing Dean would be safely in a narcotic slumber for hours, Sam returned to his own bed.

* * *

><p>Dean awoke. He had no idea what time it was. The waning light outside told him it was closer to night than evening. Some one had removed his watch. He was, for the first time in days, feeling refreshed and a little more rested. For a moment he didn't remember why he was in this bed, but it quickly came to him. Jessop. Maggie. Daniel. And the sheriff… It was important to get out of this place soon. He was filled with remembered dread that they had been identified and they needed to find the safety of anonymity again. He sat up slowly and carefully, hating the feeling that he moved and felt like some arthritic old fart. He needed to talk to Sam.<p>

He found his clothes, and was struggling into his jeans when Maggie came in. She tsked in mock annoyance. "What do you think you're doing? Get back in that bed!"

He grinned at her. Funny ideas again. "What do you have in mind?"

She rolled her eyes. "Get real. I'm way too much woman for you in your state." She helped him dress after he promised to get back onto the bed. She pulled up a chair, and the mood sobered. "Sam told me what happened."

"Ah…" He reached out and stroked her hair. "How are you doing?"

"Lousy. But I'll get better. The sheriff took my statement. I...I had to identify Daniel. Just by his clothes, and his wallet and things...they didn't show me anything else." She put her head down on his lap and sighed.

"Lay here beside me. I can't hug you from there."

She did. He enfolded her. She was cried out, but the support was wonderful. Just what she needed.

He breathed in the scent of her hair. It was getting damn hard to keep his mind on track. But serious issues had to be dealt with. "Maggie, there's something I need to talk to you about. Daniel's spirit..."

"I know. Sam explained what you have to do. I was going to choose cremation anyway. Dean…will you help me? This is hard enough as it is without the whole salt thing. I'm afraid they'll think I'm nuts at the funeral home and just give me lip service. But you could make sure. I need to do what I can, so I know that he finds his peace. "

He hugged her tight. "I'll be here, Maggie. We'll make sure."

She sighed, and nodded.

After a little while, she extricated herself from his arms and sat beside him. "When will they release you?"

"In the morning. Sam too. We can go out and get this organized then. And I need someone to drive that rental shitbox back before they freak out. Don't want to get Bill in trouble with his buddy." He knew he needed to bring up the subject of leaving. He really didn't want to. She was a great girl...he could see it being something really good if only he could stay long enough. But he never fooled himself in that regard. He and Sam faced a dangerous and uncertain future, one where travel had to play a major role. They couldn't complicate things with such entanglements, it wasn't fair or safe to do so. Which really sucked sometimes. For a moment he wondered if that would ever change. "Maggie, once Daniel is... well, when it's all done, me and Sam...we have to.."

"I know, Dean." She sighed. She valued her independence and freedom above all else, but she might have made an exception in this case, if the planets had lined up properly. But they hadn't, and he was going to leave. Well...she was damn well gonna make the most out of the next few days. "I should go. Ivan will be climbing the walls by now. Call me as soon as you're out of here. We'll pick up your stuff from Casa Cockroach and you two can stay at my place until you have to go."

"I will...and thanks. And Maggie…sorry about Danny."

She stood in the doorway. She almost made it. "Damn." she swore softly. She was wrong. She wasn't cried out after all.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Sheriff McClary took comprehensive photographs of Dean's injuries as evidence. Dean hated every moment of it, and was sorely tempted to strike a few smart-ass poses to alleviate his own tense discomfort. But he felt he was on thin ice, and he had to remind himself that this was better than having his mugshots taken, and they were lucky to be leaving at will, rather than in a paddywagon to a jail cell. In the end he sucked it up and behaved. Happily that was all that was required of him before he was allowed to disappear. The sheriff would have preferred that they go immediately, but he understood Dean's need to fulfill his promise to help Maggie through the trying process of burying her brother.

He and Sam stood outside the hospital, awaiting Maggie. They walked like two slow-moving, battered and stiff old codgers and they couldn't help but laugh at each other, and themselves. And in retrospect, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Daniel's timing in both cases had been impeccable.

"Man, I wish we could hit the road right now." Dean mused. McClary still had his keys to the Impala. He felt dangerously stranded.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too. But we need this closure as much as she does. Without the salt and burn, this whole thing would have been pointless. Any idea when that can happen?"

"They'll release his body to the funeral home right after the autopsy, probably the day after tomorrow. Until then we just need to lay low and relax. I'm gonna pick up something to drink tonight, fair warning. I just wanna forget these past few days for a while."

"I hear you." Sam agreed.

"By the way, dumbass...where'd you hide my meds? I coulda used them a few times, you know?"

Sam hadn't realized that Dean had been without during the times he needed them. The realization struck him with horror. "Oh shit, Dean—I thought you knew...they were in my other jacket! Aw man, I'm so sorry!" he stammered. All the miserable imagery of his brother's pain flooded to him, he felt absolutely awful.

Dean softened. "Relax, Sam. You were a little busy at the time. I was probably better off anyway. I needed to stay sharp. Besides, I did have a half of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Slept like a baby for hours with my face on the table while I waited for you." he grinned.

Sam returned his smile, sheepishly. But he still felt terrible.

Dean recognized her truck and waved. It wasn't quite a full extended-cab so Sam had to origami his lanky frame into the space. Dean had of course, claimed the front passenger seat. He leaned over and gave her an awkward hug. "Sorry, I'm still a little stiff. I promise to be way more limber later." he grimaced. It was supposed to be a smile.

"You'd better. You have to earn your keep, you know!" she teased.

Sam pretended not to hear, looking intently out the window. "Maggie, I really don't mind staying at the motel. I don't want to…crowd you two." he offered.

She sighed with exasperation. "Sam, you are coming to my house, and I don't want to hear anymore about it. And what crowding? I have two spare bedrooms and a sofabed, so don't worry. Even with Ivan there I'm wandering around listening to echoes."

"Um...Ivan?" Sam wondered.

"Oh, that's right, you haven't met him. He lives with me. He'll no doubt introduce himself when we get there."

Dean snorted. Sam thought it was a little weird.

They stopped at the motel and the brothers cleared out their belongings and stowed them in the back. And in a quick trip they were parked at her house. As she found her key and unlocked, Dean wisely stepped to the side of the door, remembering the previous greetings. This time as Maggie opened the door, it was Sam on the receiving end of Ivan's jovial welcome. As Sam sat on his butt, pushing the big feet off and trying to avoid the rough and slobbery tongue, Maggie performed introductions.

"Sam—Ivan. Ivan—Sam." She called him off as he groaned and laughed, rising to his feet. Dean smirked. She showed Sam to a guest room on the first floor, and Dean to the other upstairs. He pouted as she helped carry his gear in. "Don't panic...it's just for show. A girl has to guard her reputation you know." she winked.

He sat down on the bed, and when she was in range he nabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of him. It worked a lot better in his imagination, but in reality he bit back a yelp and broke into a sweat.

She kissed him and he gamely tried to ignore the hurt. "No...that ain't gonna work." he groaned, pushing her off.

She settled beside him for a moment, running her fingers through his hair as he closed his eyes. "Relax. We have lots of time...we'll figure something out later." she whispered into his ear.

He opened his eyes and cocked an eyebrow approvingly.

"I'd better see if Sam needs anything." she said, getting up. "Oh, when do you want to get the two cars?"

He reluctantly pushed himself back up. "As soon as we can, except I still don't have my keys yet."

"I have them. The sheriff gave them to me to pass on. Can you manage to drive?"

He nodded, and got up. Now was best. He hated being separated from his baby.

* * *

><p>Sam joined them and they left to retrieve the vehicles. The first stop was the hospital. Dean reluctantly agreed to leave Sam to drive it back. The next stop was the camp. Neither of them cared to see that damned place again, but it was only a quick visit to the parking lot where the popcan sat sadly waiting.<p>

"Oooh! Cool wheels!" Maggie pestered. Dean gave her a look and arranged himself carefully on its hard little patio stone of a seat. He started it up and followed her back into town, stopping to pick up some refreshments on the way. When it was safely returned to the lot, he rejoined her in the truck.

He sighed wearily. "Maggie...I need to warn you, I really need to get stupid tonight. You don't mind, do you? I promise to pass out before I get really annoying."

She smiled in sympathy. "Want company?"

"Hey, the more the merrier. Sam's kind of a cheap date." he snorted. "You'd think he would have managed to boost his capacity at college. The guy's a giant, but he never lasts past five or six beers."

She laughed. "Well, I could use some stupid myself. First one up tomorrow makes the coffee."

"Deal." he smiled.

When they returned to her house, Ivan was nowhere to be seen. Dean went to check in with Sam, and quickly called Maggie into the room. She stood in the doorway, trying to stifle her amusement. Sam lay fast asleep, his arm draped over an equally contented and snoring Irish wolfhound. She disappeared, returning with her camera. After taking some priceless shots they gently shut the door.

"Man, that guy really needs a woman." Dean said, shaking his head.

Maggie laughed. "I'm going to run you a tub, ok? I'll put some lunch together while you soak away some of that hurt."

"God, yeah…thanks." he said gratefully. He sat on the couch, elevating his bandaged arm along the back, as it had been throbbing mercilessly. He checked his watch, it was past noon, he could have a drink now without looking too much like he had a problem. But he had the sense to realize it would look tacky to drink straight out of the bottle. He got up and asked for a glass.

"How about some aspirin too?" she asked, handing him one.

He shook his head. "Nah...this'll do me fine."

Maggie went up to turn the tap off. She had made sure it wasn't too shockingly hot, but warm enough to be a comfort. She called down to him that it was ready. "Do you need help undressing?" she asked.

He gave her a pleased little look. "Oh yeah, it's kinda hard to do it...what with the arm and everything else."

She rolled her eyes and tossed a towel at him. "Smarten-up, you. " But she helped him anyway. "Now shut up and get in that tub. Call me when you need to dress." He hung his head and obeyed as she left and closed the door behind her.

He submerged himself slowly. It was exquisitely good and bad at the same time. He groaned as the hot water intensified all his pains, but the soothing effect won over quickly. It beat a skeezy motel shower hands down. He drained the glass he'd carried in and sighed with contentment. Every now and then, Winchesterville was a decent place.

* * *

><p>Sam was up.<p>

"Nice nap?" Maggie asked, with a sly smile.

"Uh…yeah, great, actually." he answered sheepishly, scratching the back of his head self consciously. She giggled, carried her camera over and scrolled her digital shots for him. He blushed with embarrassment. "Hey...he came up on his own, I didn't ask him to. And besides... he was nice and warm." he protested.

He helped Maggie put the lunch together. Forty five minutes had passed, but Dean still hadn't called down.

Maggie had begun to worry. "I'll check on him, Sam." She knocked on the bathroom door and entered. "Dean, you ok..?"

He startled at her voice, realizing he'd dozed off. "Yeah...just trapped by the cold water. I'll come down in a minute. Would you mind throwing me something clean out of my bag in here?"

She left, selected some clothing, and returned. She knew he was playing up the helpless bit, but she dried his shivering form off, rewrapped his frightfully tender-looking middle and got him dressed. "Your arm bandage got wet. Come down and I'll redo it. Lunch is ready anyway, and Sam's waiting."

Downstairs, he sat obediently as Maggie stripped off the damp and pink tinged covering from his forearm, wincing as she carefully un-stuck the last layer from his wound. She carefully patted it dry and applied a new wrapping. When she had finished, she sat back and looked at him with shiny eyes.

"No, Maggie...this is nothing, really." he assured softly.

"Liar." she whispered.

Dean knew there was more to her ministrations. She _had_ to make this better, in a way that she wasn't able to for her brother. It soothed her psyche to mend him now.

She wiped her eyes and got up to put the lunch fixings on a tray, deciding to serve it there in the livingroom. As she fussed in the kitchen, Dean made sure she didn't see him refill his glass liberally and toss it down. _Damn thing really did hurt._

* * *

><p>The trio ate in silence.<p>

"That was great, Maggie, thanks." Sam said, picking up the leavings and clearing it away. Dean grunted his ditto, his mouth still full.

"No problem. Listen, I need to abandon you guys for a bit. Ivan has to have a walk." She rose to collect his leash as he suddenly appeared, wagging expectantly at the mention of his name.

"Hey...would it be ok if I took him?" Sam asked. "I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air myself."

She looked him over, deciding he was more than strong enough to handle him. "Sure...thanks. I'll get you some poop bags, they're pretty serious about that around here. I think it's unofficially called the Ivan Bylaw." She handed the necessities to him and directed him to a nearby park. He waved as he was towed out the door.

"He'll be gone for at least a half hour..." she said innocently, sitting down beside Dean. She whispered into his ear, "Are you feeling… better?"

His eyes took on a distinctive sparkle.

* * *

><p>Sam returned after his Ivan work-out to a quiet house. He wasn't naive, he retreated to his bedroom with the dog until he heard signs of life from above. Good thing he'd picked up a few second hand books. He could immerse himself in reading while Dean was otherwise occupied. He had a few deep conversations with Ivan. He was a good listener. He rarely offered an opinion, instead he listening intently, cocking his head and offering a lick of support from time to time. An almost perfect companion.<p>

When the couple finally decided to return to the world, they all ordered Chinese and played poker and 99 and drank. The evening passed quickly in a blur of inept gambling, cheesy philosophy, outlandish stories and some teary remembrances. It was all wonderfully, perfectly _stupid_...and exactly everyone desperately needed.

Maggie really liked Sam. He was so different from his brother, but equally interesting. She lamented that she had no single friend or sister to introduce him to. But then again, he did have Ivan...who was devoted to this new companion, never leaving his side. Maggie had never seen him connect with another person so quickly or completely, it was eerie. But Ivan always responded to a gentle soul. And Sam sucked at money games. If she was serious, she could have easily made up her lost tips twice-over in one evening.

Dean, on the other hand was a savvy card player. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to fleece his lesser qualified companions. Par-for-the-course...he was used to such means to fund their unusual and less than fiscally rewarding lifestyle.

Finally, well past midnight, they called it quits. Sam was losing even more than he should be, but Dean was starting to approach him in losses, which was a clear sign to put the cards away. Maggie had been the consistent winner towards the end of the evening, she hardly missed the tips.

Sam rose officiously. "Sorry, kiddies...I'm so done. See you tomorrow." He left to weave a circuitous route to his room as Maggie and Dean snickered and Ivan following faithfully.

Dean gave Maggie the look, but she just burst out laughing. He couldn't open his eyelids past half-way. Neither was nearly sober enough. She guided him, stumbling, to his own room. Once she had him tucked in, she gently stroked and massaged his bruised back. That would have been a sure-fire tool in her arsenal under normal conditions, but he only twitched and shuddered in discomfort. Her gentle touch couldn't undo the effects of his last few days. She sighed sadly, drawing up his bedcovers and tucking him in. She kissed his cheek as he smiled.

* * *

><p>Sam was the first awake, and as such, he was the designated coffee brewer. Small victory. At least he could brew it at his own preferred strength instead of the poisonous and bitter opacity that Dean preferred. Ivan nosed him pointedly. "Ok, dog—just a minute." he promised. Once the machine was perking, he found the leash and a few baggies, and gave Ivan his wish.<p>

The air, so early still, was fresh and sharp. Once the big wolfhound was on his trek he was quite reasonable, his pulling minimal. Sam breathed in the morning oxygen, reveling in the invigorating effect. He picked up the pace, allowing Ivan to cantor along as he jogged. Times like these kept him moving forward. He felt stifled, penned, by the struggles of the distraught dead. He needed to feel the life around him, the reasons to keep struggling forward. He'd witnessed so many unfulfilled and angry spirits...he needed to draw every atom of meaning and reason from each living moment. After all...you never knew what the hell was coming.

* * *

><p>Dean had a blissfully comfortable sleep. He hardly felt any of his hurts, his rest completely devoid of distressed thought.<p>

And Maggie...well, she cried herself to sleep. But it was a good cry, not filled with uncertainty and fear...but just the purest sadness and relief. It was the closure she sought and needed.

The rest of the day followed suit. Dog walking. Meals. Closed bedroom doors and more dog walking. And good natured gambling.

Everyone was ignoring the unpleasant tasks of the following day.

* * *

><p>Everyone sought the aspirin that morning.<p>

Sam and Maggie had predictable hangovers. Dean had a bit of that plus the requisite body aches. His stitched forearm was vexing him, throbbing constantly. The tender, white skin of the underside of his arm wasn't used to the abuse that was frequently heaped on the rest of his body.

This was the day. Daniel William's remains were going to be released from the tangle of official red tape, and hopefully he would continue on his journey toward peace. Dean had promised to facilitate that goal. They waited expectantly for the call. When it came, Dean took over. Dean had the experience in dealing with confused and reluctant drones. It was still fairly fresh for Sam. And Maggie had no experience at all, and she was grateful for it.

So it fell to the elder brother to address the whole _salt_ issue with the reluctant funeral home representative. He was very insistent, convincing them that the presence of salt at cremation was an important and valuable aspect of the family's beliefs. They finally agreed. Dean would apply it himself just before the incinerating process was begun, tthere would be no question then. Maggie and Sam were to wait in the lounge at the facility. Simple enough.

He addressed Maggie. "Well, it's all arranged. They can do the cremation process this afternoon. I'll watch over it so I can be sure it happens as it needs to, ok? Sam will be there with you, in the reception lounge, if you want to be present for it. When it's all over, and they have his ashes prepared, we can bury them, or scatter them wherever you think is most appropriate. Are you ok with this?"

She nodded. "Yeah….and thanks, Dean, for helping me with this. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"C'mere.." he said, enfolding her again in his arms. She loved when he did that.

Sam kept things practical. "What time are we supposed to go to the funeral home?"

"Uh...three, he said. We should probably head out in about forty five minutes. They're willing to let us be there so we can do the salt, but they won't wait for us. I guess they have a few lined up to toast today."

Sam was appalled by that last bit of insensitivity, but Dean knew Maggie well enough to predict that she'd laugh at that. And he was right, although she gave him a gentled elbow to the ribs anyway.

Maggie felt the day needed to be marked in some way, to be dedicated to Daniel. "Would you guys mind if I bored you with some family photo albums.?" she asked tentatively. "I want to show you who Danny was….and what he meant to us. I think it would be fitting."

They both assured her that they'd love to, and for the next while they sat in the livingroom, poring over the books while Maggie described the context of each picture. In the end they had a pretty good sense of who this young man was. And they too felt the loss. Maggie spoke with such reverence and love...it was beautiful and achingly sad. She closed the last book and they all sat in silence. She put her head on Dean's shoulder as tears slid down her cheeks. The brothers just stared at the floor.

But she gathered herself, wiped her eyes dry and smoothed her hair. "Well...I guess we should head out. I'll just take Ivan out for a quick pee in the yard, then I'll be ready."

Sam relieved her of that duty. While he was out there, Dean hugged Maggie. "You ok…?"

"Yeah…think so."

"Good. Let's take my car, ok?" He steered her out to the waiting Impala. Sam joined them and they drove off to attend to the grim task.

Despite the discussion, despite the pre-arrangements, Dean still had to argue to do the salt. The staff were very proprietary about how things were done. It pissed him off to no end, he had an emotional friend desperately awaiting the conclusion of this tragedy and it was imperative to complete the task for the sake of Daniel's tortured spirit. But here he was, arguing with some closed-minded, rule-obsessed moron who was spouting greeting-card condolences and rulebook requirements. The idiot had no concept of the importance of it all.

Impatient, and frustrated, Dean was ready to deck the little weasel. But finally he was allowed into the processing area.

The human body in death was no shock to him, regardless of its state. He really had pretty much seen it all. Danny's remains had been stripped of any jewelry and other metal or foreign material. And he was young in death, so there was no issue with dental work, or artificial joint replacements. Those were all problematic to the successful completion of the process. It was just young Daniel and his cardboard box.

Dean had to admit that it was all a bit fascinating. The more he learned, the better he felt about choosing such an end for himself, should it ever be necessary. He'd dug up enough dank and mouldering corpses in his day, and simple burial held no appeal for him. He shook off his morbid thoughts and waited for the go-ahead to open Daniel's box and apply the salt.

They had pre-fired the kiln. All was in readiness. He got his nod, and he opened his salt tin and lifted Danny's lid. He tried to recall the pictures he'd seen so recently...the smiling face, the easy, kind expression. The figure lying there in front of him was a ruin, hardly the image he wanted to remember. He held the lid up, feeling the heat radiating off the fire-brick lining of the chamber. "Ok kid...this is it. You got your revenge, you earned it. Time to sprout some wings and move on. " he said, softly. And he held the open salt tin over the container.

The air temperature suddenly plummeted. The change was instantly felt over the heat that had been present mere moments ago. Dean was keenly aware of it, he knew the significance. Daniel was present.

And Daniel had other ideas. The confused and angry spirit couldn't comprehend that this man was there to help him. It felt only the threat to its existence. Daniel struck back-

Dean knew he had to continue, but he had no chance to start to pour the salt. He was suddenly struck by a wave of dizziness. He staggered back , feeling his chest tighten. -_sh—shit_- He found himself struggling to catch his breath, and his heart began to pound rapidly. He put his hand to his chest, it felt like a panic attack. But it didn't subside, it worsened. The rapid beating became irregular, weak beats were followed by over-compensating hard strokes. He began to feel faint, chilled by a sheen of sweat, as blackness hovered at the corners of his vision. His hands were suddenly nerveless, the salt tin slipped from his grasp.

"Get her-" he gasped to the technician. "…Maggie Williams, get her in here…now!" He slumped against the side of the kiln, his knees refusing to support him, as the horrified and panic-stricken employee snapped out of it and hastened out to the lounge.

The technician burst into the peaceful room-shouting urgently over the gentle chamber music that played so soothingly. "Who's Maggie Williams? I need her! Now!"

Sam and Maggie leapt to attention and followed the man back to the crematorium. They were met by a frightening scene. The room was icy, filled with a nebulous mist. Dean lay on the floor, panting and clutching his shirt, his eyes were wide with panic. The salt tin was cast aside, its contents spilling out onto the polished concrete.

Sam rushed to him immediately.

"Danny—" Dean managed, clutching Sam's shirt. "He's killing me...tell her to make him stop!" The struggle overwhelmed him, his eyes fluttered, his hand dropped loosely and he passed out.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, shaking him. "Dean!"

He didn't stir.. Sam turned to Maggie in desperation, "Maggie, talk to him! Talk to Daniel! Make it stop!"

She stared at them, bewildered and terrified. But the image of Dean, laid out and so terribly still, galvanized her to action. "Daniel! Danny!" she cried, tearfully addressing the formless mist. "Please! Please stop this...don't do this! Jessup hurt him too, just like you! Just look at him!"

Sam pounded on his brother's chest. He raised his head, looking to her, frantic— "It's not working! He's still got no pulse!" The mist was solidifying, gaining form in front of her.

"No, Danny!" she screamed tearfully, dropping to her knees, beseeching. "Please, he's trying to help you! Stop this! It's me, it's Margaret! Please Danny, don't hurt him, leave this place...for me!"

She saw him then. His form materialized in front of her. He wore an angry, hurt expression, but as he stared at her, it was replaced by one of confusion, and then tenderness. He smiled, and spoke soundlessly, and reached a transparent hand towards her, brushing her face.

The mist dissipated then.

Dean instantly drew a deep and tortured breath. Sam halted his CPR, his fingertips pressed against the artery in his brother's neck. He felt the blood course through strongly again. His heartbeat returned, strong and regular. Tears streamed from the outside of Dean's eyes as he felt the crushing chest pain lift as his heart returned to normal rhythm. He was sure, for several agonizing moments, that he was finished, literally feeling his life slip away. He looked up into Sam's intense and shining eyes, and turned to see Maggie stumble towards him.

"Sam..." he whispered hoarsely, "Do the salt, finish it!"

Maggie dropped to his side, sobbing and near hysteria. She lifted his head, kissing his deathly pale cheek. "Oh thank god!" she said, over and over.

Sam picked up the salt tin, lifted the top of the box and emptied it over Daniel's body.

"Do it now!" he barked to the bewildered technician. "Finish the cremation!"

The man nodded. He pushed the container into the kiln and shut and locked the door. He switched up the firing process. The salt and burn had finally begun. It was over.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Sam carefully helped Dean into the lounge and deposited him gently on a sofa. The funeral tech followed him, hovering nearby and anxiously asking if he should call 911.

Sam looked at Dean, who shook his head. "No," Sam answered unsurely, "he'll be ok, thanks."

"I'll get you some ice water." the man offered, hurrying off to alert his director of the incident.

"Are you really ok?" Sam demanded, peering intently at Dean.

Dean was shaky and still breathing heavily, but he closed his eyes and nodded.

Maggie sat beside him, running her fingers through his damp hair. "God, you scared me!" she said.

He smiled wanly. -_scared me too_- "It'd take a lot more than this to boot my ass down to hell." He was decidedly not ok, but it was concerning his psyche more than anything else. He'd already experienced a failing heart enough in his young life; he'd had more heart attacks than a retired postal worker. And here he had again. It was profoundly unsettling, and he had the urge to just curl up and shut the world out. But he pushed the feelings away, for the sake of his dignity and the people who hovered over him now. And he knew it didn't affect him alone, Maggie had experienced a terrible trauma herself. Dean asked Sam to help him up to a sitting position. He pulled Maggie down beside him and wrapped his arms around her. He had to deal with this for her sake.

"I know what you saw in there…" he said quietly.."And you'll never be able to forget it. But I want you to know this; Daniel only attacked me because he was still afraid, and hurt, and angry. But he doesn't feel any of that now,…ok? And I'm not really hurt, just a little shaken up, so don't feel bad for me. Danny has peace now. You gave him that…you allowed us to lead him to that."

She crumpled into soft crying as he stroked her hair. She could feel the trembling running through him, knowing that he was comforting her when clearly, he sorely needed it himself. She would always love him for that.

"It's okay." he soothed. "I know how you feel...we'll talk about all this later." He closed his eyes and coached himself to breath more evenly, and holding her, he felt some measure of calm return.

The man who had witnessed the strange events returned with a pitcher and a glass. Sam accepted it from him, filled the glass and placed it into Dean's shaking hand. He took it gratefully. He had a few sips and handed it back.

"The director is on his way down." the nervous man informed. He hovered longer than necessary, clearly troubled.

"Uh...look, I'm sorry...I know you're all…well, I mean... Christ, what the hell happened there?"

Sam took him aside. "Listen...what you saw there was something you _never_ want to discuss with anyone, ok? For your own sake. That was a spirit. It was a little screwed up, but it's gone now. I know you saw it, and you felt the cold, and you saw what it did to my brother. But unless you want to look like a lunatic, keep it to yourself. It's just my advice...forget about all this. You'll be a lot better off. And thank-you, by the way, for helping us. It made a difference...probably saved his life."

The shaken man nodded. He left for home minutes later. And he quit the next day.

The director flew through the doors, his mind filled with dread over the possibility of litigation. "What happened? Is everyone alright?" he demanded, flustered from his sprint from his office.

Sam took over. "It's ok, sir. My brother just got faint when he saw the body, it's nothing, really."

"But my staff-member said-"

"He was confused. Everything is fine."

"Oh…well, I'm very glad to hear that. " He _really_ was. "Were you able to…complete your request?"

"Yes, sir. The cremation is underway. I'm going to get these two home, it's been a long, hard day. We'd appreciate a call when the ashes are ready. And thank-you for accommodating us, sir."

The director nodded. His professional mask of saccharine sympathy slipped into place. He offered his condolences and promised to call when it was appropriate.

Sam helped Dean to his feet. Dean drew on his store of adrenalin to appear just as he was described, a wuss who got the willies and fainted. He wasn't thrilled with that portrayal. He really had earned more of a hero's adulation, but que sera. But once safely stowed in the Impala, Dean gave in. That was as near to death as he cared to tread. He was fairly undone by it all.

Sam knew. He'd seen versions of it before. But he knew Dean would keep it together for Maggie's sake. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of any real emotional reaction to it all. Not publicly, anyway. Not when she had her own traumas to deal with.

All Dean allowed himself was to close his eyes and drift. His mind wandered in search of some perfect place, somewhere that required nothing of him. He must have found it, because he stopped responding to both Maggie and Sam's anxious queries as to how he was doing.

They arrived back at her house. Maggie exited and opened her front door, and this time no one was in the crosshairs of Ivan's welcome. The big dog circled the front yard several times before giving in to his needs. Sam tried to wake Dean, but had limited success. So he gathered him up and carried him in to a sofa.

Maggie went to brew some tea. Tea was normal...tea was peaceful. She wanted nothing else.

Sam sat beside his brother, waiting for him to return to the living. He didn't want to rush it, he knew that Dean had experienced a serious ordeal. This quiet was good.

Dean groaned and turned onto his side. The discomfort woke him and he struggled to sit up. "Sam? he asked, rubbing his eyes "Where are we…?"

"It's ok, Dean, we're back at Maggie's. The salt and burn is done." he assured.

Dean sighed his relief, remembering. "Is she ok?"

"Yeah, Dean, she's fine. How about you?"

He nodded his response.

Maggie brought in some mugs. Dean accepted his, took a few dutiful sips and gave Sam a look. Sam got up and discreetly retrieved the bourbon.

After Dean downed a couple of generous ounces he felt better.

Maggie sat with them. She spied the bottle and reached for it. "Wow." she said quietly. It was quite the understatement. She had so much more to say, so many questions. But when she looked to her exhausted and spent lover, she felt it could all wait until tomorrow. She knew the important thing...Daniel had passed on to peace. Dean and Sam had made sure. Nothing mattered more than that.

* * *

><p>Dean slept for two days.<p>

He needed it. He was legitimately exhausted, hurt and in need of healing for the first 24 hours. He was hardly aware of just how many times they peeked in on him, his two anxious nurses. The second 24 hours were good for him too...but were more of an excuse to spend most of the day in the sack with Maggie. Ivan had never been walked so much in his life.

When Maggie finally gave herself a breather, she went about arranging a short-notice memorial service for Daniel. She invited the people who knew him best, Bill, her co-workers at Harry's, Daniel's few but close friends. And the handful of family members remaining in the area. And of course, the Winchester brothers, without whom the memorial could not have happened. It was to take place the next day. Bill had offered Harry's...the bar would be closed tomorrow to accommodate the mourners.

* * *

><p>Sam had gone out and picked up the ashes. Dean was still asleep, and when Sam returned with the unassuming box, he sat with Maggie for a little while. She held the container in her hands.<p>

"It's so little." she said, in a small voice, fighting to keep her composure.

Sam understood. To her, Daniel was everything. To see him reduced to this small package was so contrary to what she held so dear.

"It is. And you know why, don't you?" he asked gently.

She nodded. This box represented only a small portion of who, and what Daniel Elliot Williams was. He was kind, and good-humoured, warm in spirit. A rescuer of stray cats. An eighties techno band aficionado. A closet drummer. He was the only one who could revive her abused African violets. The one who insisted that Christmas stockings were more important than expensive presents under the tree. All those things were still out there, somewhere. This little pile of dust was almost insignificant when there were people keeping his memory alive.

She had questions...questions she was almost too afraid to ask. But Sam helped her. He had enough experience with these things…not as much as Dean, but he was a more spiritual person so he was better suited to guide her through this. Sam had a more optimistic and hopeful outlook when it came to the next level, whatever that may be. Dean was jaded, he had seen and suffered too much of the negative side of it all.

After some heart-rending conversation she was able to find a comfortable place. She was glad to have seen him, even under the circumstances. She knew she was blessed, everyone who had lost someone close begged and prayed to see them again somehow. She was one of the rare few who had had the opportunity. She would cherish that last moment, when his face was transformed by that peaceful smile, and he reached out to touch her. She knew she was very, very lucky. And she knew who had suffered to deliver that to her.

* * *

><p>Maggie had been brought up to speed regarding the other pressures that drove the Winchester brothers. She knew why Dean had to leave. And she knew he didn't want to. Life sucked sometimes. Really, <em>really<em> sucked.

The wake for Danny was wonderful, in true Irish style. Everyone did their best to get hammered, the stories and remembrances spilling over each other. Maggie had no idea how many people's lives were touched by her younger brother. There were dozens more than she had invited. It was awe-inspiring.

At the brothers' request, no mention was made of their part in it all. It was dangerous for them, and besides, they wanted it to be all about Danny. They were merely another two friends remembering him. At the end of the wake, when the last weepy straggler had been escorted to a cab, it was Dean and Sam, and Bill and Maggie. Maggie was pretty looped, even by her standards. She'd kept it together for the evening but she'd downed three tequila shooters in Danny's honour at the end, and they were hitting her hard now. Even Sam was unable to walk with any dignity.

But Dean had remained uncharacteristically in control.

This wake was about sad and untimely partings, but not just involving Dan. For him, it also represented his impending separation from this wonderful girl.

Bill, being a professional after all, was also fairly sober. He found Dean and took him aside. "Listen. I wanna thank you…on behalf of all of us, for what you did for our Maggie. She was really lost, and hurting, not knowing what happened to Dan. She, and the rest of us I guess—all knew, somehow, that it would end this way. Danny wasn't the type to just wander off. But if she never had found out...well, it would have been an open sore for her 'til the day she died. And we would have had to watch her suffer." He sighed, not sure if he had the eloquence to say what he wanted to.

"I know." Dean said, simply.

And Bill knew that he did. His frizzy, squirrel moustache curled up in a smile. "Good lad." He clapped Dean firmly on the back and left for home.

Dean hid the pain it caused. He was ready to head for home himself. Well, for Maggie's home anyway... He slipped out to start the Impala and warm it up. As he sat alone, the reality hit him hard. -_crap_-

CRAP CRAP CRAP! He pounded his hands against the steering wheel. _This all sucked!_ He deserved better. Maggie did too. And Sam. This goddamned life, this _hunting_...it was costing them everything. And it was too late to change. He couldn't undo the trouble they were in. He couldn't ignore what he knew of the world, and what lurked in it's shadows. But at this moment he'd have given everything to know nothing. He dropped his head into his hands, weary and overcome.

* * *

><p>Sam and Maggie staggered over to the car. They were giggling stupidly, and Dean rubbed his eyes quickly and shook his head at their sorry state. He had to smile despite himself. Sam clumsily pulled the heavy door open and helped Maggie in before climbing in himself. Dean ferried them home. They'd all done Danny proud tonight.<p>

Once back at the house, he again managed to avoid Ivan at the door and he guided his stumbling charges to their respective rooms. He tucked Sam in with a bucket and glass of water at his bedside.

And he gently comforted a weepy Maggie until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

That left Ivan. Dean went back out, called the big dog, and closed the door behind him when he had finished his business. Ivan immediately headed for Sam's room.

* * *

><p>Dean sat in the quiet of the house. He was tired, but sleep was evasive. He was deeply affected by the outpouring of love and regret for Daniel. He wished he had a life where, in the end, he too would have inspired a gathering like this. But instead, he had the reputation of a criminal…a murderer no less. He had been forced to drag Sam into the same rootless existence. He had to leave everything that mattered behind, regularly. No one, except Sam, would miss him or lament him if he were gone tomorrow...and for what? The great rewards of hunting? It didn't even pay for their most basic needs. And they left their own blood behind each time.<p>

He was f~cking sick of it. He dealt a bitter kick to the ottoman. Ivan, alerted by the sound, left Sam's bed and came in. He walked up to Dean, whined, and licked his face. Dean sighed, smiled a little and scratched his wiry head. It was a little thing, but enough to distract him from the bitter road he was heading down. He got up and headed off to bed. Tomorrow was going to be hard.

* * *

><p>It was pissing down rain hard that morning. It was fitting.<p>

Sheriff McClary stopped by Maggie's place. It was early, but Sam and Maggie were up, preparing for the brothers' departure. Dean was still asleep.

"Thought you might miss this." he said, handing the camera to Sam.

Sam thanked him, grateful to have his gift from Dean back. "So, you don't need it for evidence?"

The sheriff shook his head. "We retrieved the recording from it. That's all we need. So you two are heading out?"

"Yes sir. Around noon, probably."

"Well, that's good. Any idea where you're headed?"

Sam could honestly say they had no idea.

Maggie poured a coffee for the sheriff and he sat down with it. They joined him.

"How's your brother doing?" he asked quietly.

"Uh…better, and worse. He had a rough week. We had a little _interaction_…with Danny's spirit at the crematorium. Danny fought back, for a few minutes. Almost had to plan two funerals… I'd explain, but I know how you feel about all this."

Sheriff McClary sighed and sat back. "Yeah...about that. I called your Detective Ballard contact. She had quite a tale to tell. It was like pulling teeth to get it out of her, 'course I understand why. But it was another goddamned eye-opener. I checked her out, she has an excellent record so I can't class her a nut-case either. You know, I keep wanting to find evidence that proves you're all crazy, or con-artists...and I keep coming up with squat. It's very disconcerting…" He was serious, but a little smile played on his lips.

Maggie got up to feed Ivan, who was becoming an ever-more obvious presence.

Sheriff McClary continued. "The coroner confirmed what you said would be there on Randy Jarvis' body. And cause of death. Even that sonofabitch deputy of mine had the marks." He sipped at his coffee. "So what happened to Dean at the funeral home?"

Sam knew why the Sheriff was asking. He was a reluctant neophyte in all this. He wanted to know more and more, to make sense of it. He could no longer comfortably reject it all.

"He was applying salt to the body, so that it burned with it. It's the way to release a spirit from it's tormented state...salt and burn the remains. That's a whole other discussion, the whys and hows and wheres. Well...Danny Williams didn't like the idea. He was frightened, and he fought back. He stopped Dean's heart, until Maggie got through to him and got him to quit hurting him. She was pretty freaked out about it all, seeing her little brother's spirit, for starters...and watching it try to kill her friend. But she had what it took to change his mind...she gentled him. And the salt and burn is done now, Danny is gone on to wherever he was supposed to go."

"Salt. …Huh. So Dean...he's ok?"

Sam smiled wryly. "As much as on any given day. He'll get over it all. He always does."

"Mm. Sam, tell me more about this thing out in St. Louis. "

Sam was caught off guard, and at a loss for words…

"Shapeshifter." It was Dean who answered. He came out and sat on a chair opposite from the sheriff. Maggie got up and made a strong coffee for him, returning and handing it to him. He nodded gratefully. "It was a human-like thing…we call them shape-shifters. Maybe they're not always evil, I don't know. But we don't hear about the good ones, only the ones that use their power to do bad things. Well...this one got his jollies by hurting women, just like any average psycho. It takes on someone's form, and to do it they need to be in close contact with the person, so they nab the victim, disguise their body as theirs and usually kill them. And when they need to change form, when things get too hot for them, they shed their skin like an insect. They like underground lairs, sewers, that sort of thing, where they can leave their sheddings without anyone seeing. Oh, and their eyes fluoresce, like a cat's. That's about it."

" Christ." It was all McClary could come up with at the moment. But he had to know... "Look...why the hell are you two chasing these things? This is the part that I really don't get. What's in it for you?"

Dean and Sam exchanged looks of helplessness. The hardly had an adequate answer for themselves lately, let alone for a skeptical onlooker.

"Satisfaction that one more evil sonofabitch is back in hell where it belongs. Or that some poor bastard that doesn't know he's dead can move on." Dean said, shrugging.

"Our Dad started us in this." Sam added. " After our mother was taken by a...well, an evil thing. He started to learn about all these things that are really out there, and he made it his mission to get rid of as many as he could. And he found this underground community of hunters. People who have seen it all, and go after these evils."

The sheriff was quiet. He was no longer able to categorically dismiss this all. It was a new and uncomfortable awareness. He sighed. "Well, boys. I don't know what to make of you, and all of this. But I sure as hell won't be the one to stand in the way of people like you who are willing to go after this shit and fix it. I've been a lawman for over twenty years. There's always something strange happening. But I have my days filled by the crap that normal human-beings do to each other. I think I'll leave this other shit to you to deal with, since you seem to know what you're doing." He got up and made motions to leave. He paused at the door, scratching his head. "You know...this state is old, really got a deep history. And I hear of stuff… Well, if I ever need to get, uh...an informed opinion on something...I'd like to think I can count on you."

"You got it, Sheriff." Dean said without hesitation. "Just get a hold of Maggie here. She'll be able to contact us." He reached around her waist and drew her closer.

Sheriff McClary nodded. "Listen...one more thing. Seems whenever some one accesses your police file, there's a note made. It must be flagged on the system, or something. Within hours of my search I got a call from a Henrickson, from the FBI. He wanted to know why you were being searched, and where. So be warned; you've got somebody out there, high up, who's interested."

Dean swore under his breath. Getting far away was now more important than ever. "Thanks for the heads-up, sir."

McClary left with a wave.

* * *

><p>Sam went out to the Impala, making sure all was packed and ready. He started it, warming her up.<p>

Dean was left with Maggie. "Here...I got you this." He awkwardly handed a box to Maggie.

She opened it. It was a silver ID bracelet. It was kind of mannish, very Dean. She turned it over, seeing the number scratched crudely into the back.

"Yeah, I know...it's kind of ugly. But that's my cell, on the back, ok? It's all I could find that I could fit the number on."

She knew the significance. It was tantamount to his placing his life in her hands. She put in on, and he helped with the clasp. "Thank-you…" She couldn't hold back her tears.

"Please, Maggie...please call me, whenever you need me…Ok? I don't care if it's about a nightmare, or a thunderstorm…or a crossword puzzle question… I mean, I probably won't be able to help you with the crossword, but just...call me anyway."

She looked up at him with shining eyes. "I will."

He held her tightly, nuzzling her hair, her neck. "Jesus, Maggie…if it were different…"

"I know, Dean. I know. Please…be careful. I know this will be over someday. Maybe I'll be some grey-haired old biddy, I dunno…but when all the monsters are gone, come home to me...promise me."

He pulled her closer. "I promise, Maggie. I promise."

* * *

><p>Sam drove the first leg. It was a very quiet trip.<p>

Dean was forced to sit sideways on the seat, still unable to bear the contact with the firm leather back. He rested his head on the top edge…drifting between sleep and quiet wakefulness. "Where are we going?" he asked, not particularly interested in the answer.

Sam answered firmly. He'd been thinking of this for some time. "Mexico. We're going to Mexico, Dean. We going to do a vacation properly this time."

Dean smiled, adjusting his position against the headrest.

_Mexico_… He decided it was just about perfect.

* * *

><p>The end.<p> 


End file.
